


Emerald Park

by backwardsghost



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Coming of Age, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Teacher Kim Namjoon | RM, Teacher-Student Relationship, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26858686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwardsghost/pseuds/backwardsghost
Summary: Yeonjun figures out life after Namjoon.
Relationships: Choi Yeonjun/Kim Namjoon, Choi Yeonjun/Kim Taehyung | V
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47





	1. Black Moss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning upfront: This story focuses on an emotionally abusive relationship between a teacher and a student. Every chapter I'll add more specific warnings/tags in the end notes if you would like to read them ahead of time, but the tags listed above will be present in most chapters. Please be careful and take care of yourself if those are themes you would rather not read about. Additional relationship tags will be added later on. Enjoy :)

**Now**

Yeonjun glances around the busy coffee shop and makes a note of the number of patrons: eight, by his count. Three sitting together, then two, then three sets of one. Four open seats, not including the one at the small table he seated himself at six minutes ago. Three baristas, maybe a cook in the back. He’s taken five large sips of his iced latte, which is four and a half more than he would have taken on probably any other occasion. But today Yeonjun is nervous. 

He scans the room again, looking for anyone who could be “Beomgyu” from the online ad. He doesn’t have much to go by; all Beomgyu had said was to look for someone with dyed-blonde hair. Yeonjun thinks of his own overgrown, bleach-fried hair. At least maybe they’ll have something to talk about. 

It’s when he’s thinking about taking a sixth swig of coffee and anxiously scratching at a scab on his arm that Beomgyu slides into the seat across from him. 

“Good morning.” Beomgyu is straight-faced. Serious. He squints at Yeonjun every so slightly, obviously taking him in. Evaluating. Yeonjun already wants to curl in on himself, make up an excuse and leave.

But he needs this meeting.

“So you’re interested in subleasing from our roommate Soobin for the semester?” Beomgyu continues. 

Yeonjun nods, hands clasped to his cup of coffee like a vice. Like something to ground him. “Yeah, I could really use a place to live. And your ad seemed exactly like what I’m looking for.”

Beomgyu blinks slowly, once, twice, and again Yeonjun wants to flinch, recoil. The outside of the coffee cup has started to condense, leaking cold water onto his hands. He’s hyper-aware of the too-cold sensation, both on his hands, and in the room. 

“Great, so a few things you should know about the house: there’s three of us, four including you. If we pick you, of course. Taehyun and Kai are incoming freshman. It’s a little unconventional for them to not live in the dorms, I know, but they’re my best friends from home, and Soobin-hyung and I really wanted this house, and having roommates was the only way we were going to make it work. Anyway, you probably won’t meet Soobin, but he’s my roommate from last year in the dorms.” 

Yeonjun nods, taking in how slowly, how deliberately Beomgyu articulates each word. Like he’s placing every consonant with intention. Slotting every vowel into its exact place. 

Beomgyu keeps speaking. “So, we’re pretty easy-going. And if I’m being honest, we’re pretty desperate to fill Soobin-hyung’s room. Basically what we’re looking for is someone who can keep common spaces clean and not start fights with us. Pretty simple.”

Yeonjun taps his fingers on his glass of coffee three times, then wipes off the moisture on his jeans once, then again.

“So Yeonjun, enough about us, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

“Well,” Yeonjun’s voice catches in his throat and he has to stop to clear it. “I’m a dance major. For now, at least; I’m thinking about changing to a more practical major, so we’ll see. But I’m about to be a junior.”

Beomgyu looks at him eagerly. “Have you lived with roommates before?”

Yeonjun pauses, staring down at his hands. He takes a deep breath. Hold it for two counts. Releases it. “Yeah, I live with someone now, actually. But I’m moving out, and don’t really have a place, at the moment.”

Beomgyu just stares at Yeonjun, like he expects him to continue. When Yeonjun says nothing, Beomgyu speaks up. “So what are you looking for in new roommates, then?”

He certainly can’t know, they were strangers until five minutes ago, Yeonjun reassures himself. Still, the way Beomgyu stares up at him, almost forlornly through his shaggy bangs, gives Yeonjun pause. 

“I guess I’m just looking for people I feel comfortable around.” Deep breath. Two more seconds. “I mostly keep to myself. Stay pretty busy with school. But I’d like to live with people in a similar position. People that are easy to get along with.”

His answer seems to satisfy Beomgyu, and he smiles, leaning forward to place his hand on his chin. “I would say we’re pretty easy to get along with, the guys and I. And I’m a music major, so I definitely understand keeping busy and trying to focus on school.”

Yeonjun releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Alright, well, that’s all the questions I have for you. I’ll talk to Kai and Taehyun, but really, I don’t see a reason why they wouldn’t want you as a roommate. I’ll give you a call in the next few days, for sure.”

Beomgyu starts to walk away from the table as Yeonjun watches him leave. 

He counts eleven steps as Beomgyu walks out the door.

~~~

Yeonjun gets the call that the boys want him as a roommate the next day, and he starts moving in the following afternoon. It’s tedious work, as he doesn’t have a car, but fortunately he doesn’t have to haul any furniture (Beomgyu had assured him that he was welcome to use Soobin’s dresser, bed, etc.), so all he really has to carry onto the city bus are a few boxes of clothes and some old hip-hop records. Five boxes total, which he can probably manage in two trips. Twenty-two minutes on the bus, one way. One hour, twenty-eight minutes on a cramped city bus. A full afternoon of unpacking. 

"Whoa, you listen to Tupac?" A very tall boy with curly, dark brown hair exclaims the minute Yeonjun walks in the door. He lets out what Yeonjun could only describe as a shriek, and grabs the box of records from Yeonjun's hand, setting it on the ground to rifle though. "Is this A Tribe Called Quest?" He sings a little bit of "Can I Kick It?" He has a good voice, Yeonjun thinks. Nice tone. Loud. "I'm Kai, by the way."

"Yeonjun, nice to meet you."

A boy with bright red hair runs in from the kitchen and lets out a similarly shrill scream. "Oh my god! You're Yeonjun-hyung! You seem so much cooler than Beomgyu-hyung described."

Yeonjun isn't sure what to make of what Beomgyu did, or didn’t, tell these boys about him, but when Kai lets out a screech, falling to the ground as his body shakes with laughter, he gets the impression that at least they have a good sense of humor about it. 

"I'm Taehyun. We're really excited to live with you, Yeonjun-hyung," the red-haired boy says. 

"Can we help you move your stuff?" Kai yells from the floor, giggling when Taehyun flops down on the carpet beside him. 

Yeonjun glances down at his feet. They look bony. Pale. "No, thank you though, I only have one more trip. I should be back in an hour. Maybe we could all cook some dinner then?"

"Fuck that, we're ordering fried chicken," Kai says.

"And you're definitely not paying. Tonight we're celebrating you moving in," Taehyun finishes. 

Sure enough, when Yeonjun gets back with the last of his boxes an hour later, gathered around the living room table are plates of fried chicken and his three new roommates staring up eagerly at him. 

"Sorry we didn't wait," Taehyun says, mouth full of food. 

Yeonjun smiles. He feels at-ease here already, taking a seat next to Beomgyu on the couch. He grabs a plate for himself, and dishes up three big pieces of chicken. Two more than he would have eaten just days ago. And he lets himself savor it. 

~~~

The last days of summer break pass quickly after that. Yeonjun learns that like Beomgyu, Kai is a music major. Kai studies musical theater, meaning Yeonjun will likely see him around the dance building for his dance classes. Beomgyu studies guitar, and Taehyun is undeclared, but loves to sing. His parents, however, are intent on him studying something “practical,” like accounting or business. Both Beomgyu and Kai reassure him that his parents will come around and let him study music, and if it’s really what he wants to do, it will all work out. Yeonjun doesn’t offer an opinion. 

Besides that, the unpacking has gone smoothly. Both Kai and Taehyun’s parents had sent them off to college with a full kitchen’s-worth of dishware, and Yeonjun discovers that he and Beomgyu share a similar love of decorating the house. One night, Yeonjun hangs a drawing on the wall, and when he gets up the next morning, another is hanging beside it. A merging, a partnership. Two drawings. Three new friends, if all goes well. 

The night before school begins, they all drag their kitchen chairs out to their yard and sit in a circle, sipping on beers and passing around a joint. Kai is attempting to start a bonfire in a makeshift circle of rocks, while Taehyun yells encouragements. In the background, some folk playlist (undoubtedly Beomgyu’s) plays softly, a sweet, melodious woman’s voice shading the scene. Yeonjun is just faded enough to hone in, numbed to the words' meaning, but listening nonetheless. 

_Pain alternates with pleasure in beautiful waves._

“Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu startles, sipping his beer and looking up from where he was staring fondly at a now-bickering Taehyun and Kai.

“How did you become friends with them?”

_I trusted you, you watched me like a flower._

Beomgyu pauses, squints his eyes, stares at the road. Yeonjun counts six seconds before Beomgyu replies. “We all went to the same high school. I, um, high school was hard for me. Being gay and all.”

Yeonjun sucks in a breath, can see the beginnings of a fire in his periphery and the sunset in front of him. 

Beomgyu continues, “I really hated myself. Started hanging out with some older people, started doing some stuff I shouldn’t have. Drugs and that.”

“Yeah, I can definitely relate. I dated an older guy—.” Yeonjun stops himself. He’s already said far too many words. “I dated an older guy, and it didn’t work out. So I understand.”

_Soon black moss will cover, over my dead body._

Kai runs over to pass the joint to Beomgyu. He takes a drag, holds it in. Three counts, Yeonjun’s familiar. Blows out the smoke. It wafts over his head, then fades into the distance. Drifts away in a soft wind. 

“Yeah, so,” Beomgyu’s eyes are hazy, glazed. “Taeyhun and Kai were the only people who stuck with me. Even when I wasn’t great to them.” He motions to Yeonjun to take the joint, but Yeonjun shakes his head. Beomgyu takes another hit. “It’s like that sometimes. We hurt people. They hurt us.”

Yeonjun knows it’s just stoned rambling at this point, but it still feels like Beomgyu is twisting an invisible knife in his stomach. 

“Anyway, I guess I stayed with them because they accepted me.” He glances off at where the younger boys are now chasing each other around the yard. Kai trips, rolling on the ground, spilling his beer all over himself. Taehyun drops to his knees, a loud laugh ripping from his chest. “I’ve always admired how excitable they are. How unjaded. I think there’s something about being friends with younger people that’s just so refreshing. Makes me feel younger.” 

Yeonjun is about to reply, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out and sees that he has a new text.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He puts his phone back in his pocket without opening the text and settles for taking the joint from Beomgyu’s outstretched hand. He stares at the fire, and watches how the orange flames dance, spreading as they consume the logs around them. 

_I never quite believed you when you said it’s over. Well, what is wrong with me?_

Yeonjun doesn’t tell them it’s his birthday.

**Then**

Yeonjun is certifiably lost. 

He’s been wandering the music building for at least the past ten minutes, circling back past classrooms he’s already seen, searching for the room his class meets in. It’s his very first day of college, and he’s not even a music major. It’s too early for him to be this confused.

He stops the first student he passes, a boy with shaggy, black hair, all-black clothing, and a baby face. Yeonjun, dressed in a beret and his favorite teal sweater, can respect this stranger’s sense of fashion. “Excuse me.” The boy looks up, eyes widening. He seems approachable. “Hi there. I like your style.”

The boy bites his lower lip, large front teeth jutting out. He shyly gives Yeonjun a once-over. “I like yours, too. Cool beret. Are you a student here?”

“Yeah, my name’s Yeonjun. I’m a dance major, music minor.”

“Wow, no way.” The boy smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Cute. “I’m a music major, dance minor. My name’s Jungkook, by the way. Are you a freshman? I haven’t seen you before.” 

Yeonjun wishes a little that it wasn’t that obvious. “Yeah, unfortunately. Wish I wasn’t, though. I’d probably be less lost.”

Jungkook glances to the schedule clutched in Yeonjun’s hand, then back up to his face. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I should have asked, do you need help finding your class? Wild guess, you have Music Theory 100 right now?”

“Haha, yeah, that’s right.”

“Wow, good luck, when I took that class, the grad student who taught it was awful. She spent half the class talking about breathing techniques, and I’m not sure if she ever even mentioned the difference between major and minor chords.”

“What year are you?” Yeonjun asks.

“I’m a junior. So, ya know, I’ll still be here for a bit.”

Yeonjun smiles, blushes a little. “Here, can I put my number in your phone? We should hang out. I might need someone to show me around some more.”

Jungkook grins back, front teeth still sticking out below his lower lip as he hands over his phone. Yeonjun puts his number in, before saying, “Text me yours, ok? I better, um, go to class then. Before I’m late.” Jungkook points Yeonjun in the direction of class, and then they part ways. 

Yeonjun slips into class just in time, and slides into one of the last remaining seats in the cramped classroom, a desk in the front row in the very middle of the room. Front and center. All eyes on him. He glances around for anyone he might recognize from his dorm or the dining hall, but so far doesn’t see anyone he recognizes. He settles for simply doodling in his notepad for a minute before a deep voice from the front of the room draws his attention. 

“Hey guys, welcome to Music Theory 100. Dr. Bang said I should introduce myself as “Professor Kim,” but honestly I hate that formal bullshit. I’d rather you feel like you can actually talk to me if you need help in class. So you can just call me Namjoon.”

Yeonjun looks up from his drawing, and immediately feels his blood rush to his face, his heart pounding. In front of him is a very tall, very tan, very built grad student. This “no formal bullshit” Namjoon stares directly at him when Yeonjun lifts his head, and Yeonjun swears he sees a flash of something in the grad student's eyes, the edge of a smile playing on the corners of his lips. 

Namjoon looks away in a flash, turning his attention to the rest of the class. "Alright, so we'll get started then." He walks over to the white board, draws a staff, and starts filling in chord symbols. "The first unit, and really the foundation of what we're going to study all year, is diatonic harmony."

Yeonjun nods eagerly, scribbling notes into his notebook, eyes barely leaving where Namjoon is stationed at the front of the class.

"So," Namjoon scans the room again, having apparently finished writing. "Who would like to come up to the board and write in the notes for the indicated chord qualities?"

The class is completely silent. Stock-still. Yeonjun taps his pencil against his desk, then shrugs, before standing up. "I'll do it," he offers, casually. 

Namjoon looks at him again, the same indiscernible energy playing just below the surface of his face. 

"Great, go for it."

Namjoon steps back, leaving room for Yeonjun to take the marker and fill in the listed series of chords. Major I, minor ii, minor iii. Easy. He steps back, and Namjoon smirks. "Exactly, nice job."

"My name's Yeonjun." He flashes a smile back toward the professor. 

Namjoon chuckles softly. Yeonjun feels his chest tighten. Dimples. "Ok, nice job Yeonjun."

His name sounds nice on Namjoon’s tongue.

Yeonjun sits back down, and Namjoon launches into a lecture about the functions of diatonic chords within pieces of music. Yeonjun tries to listen to what he's saying, but so far it's all review, and besides, he's currently far more interested in the way Namjoon-- Professor Kim--moves his hands animatedly when he talks through a particularly interesting music theory concept, how he squints his eyes shut when he laughs, little creases forming around the corners, the way he talks a little too fast, in a way that could be nerdy, but Yeonjun just finds engaging. Charming.

Namjoon. He silently rolls the word around in his mouth. Nam-joon. _Namjoon._ Handsome, intelligent, well-spoken Namjoon. Yeonjun hopes for the opportunity to speak Namjoon’s name like Namjoon spoke his.

It's when Namjoon makes a mistake that Yeonjun shakes himself out of his reverie. "What chord do we think this is?" He's pointing at the score for a symphony, projected at the front of the room.

He calls on a girl in the back, and she answers, "Major II."

"Correct, great job."

Yeonjun raises his hand, but speaks without being called on. "Wouldn't it be a V/V though? Since major II chords don't appear in major keys? And functionally it makes way more sense, since we're about to modulate to the V." It's after he's done correcting Namjoon that he realizes he just interrupted the class, interrupted Namjoon to essentially jump a semester ahead in their studies. Yeonjun recoils, but Namjoon simply leans forward where he's now seated at his desk. A strand of bleach-blonde hair falls over his eyes as he rests his chin on his hands, eyes fixed intensely on Yeojun. He lifts an eyebrow and chuckles. 

"That's a great point, Yeonjun. But let's stop here for today. We'll pick up where we left off next class."

Yeonjun hangs back after class, gathering his pen and notebook, not necessarily trying to leave slowly, but also not particularly disappointed when he looks up again and he and Namjoon are the last two people left in the room. 

Namjoon speaks first. "You were completely right, by the way." 

Yeonjun looks up, surprised, shy almost. Namjoon smiles back with that wide, dimpled grin, and Yeonjun feels his heart rate pick up as Namjoon gets up from his desk and walks over to him.

Yeonjun's breath catches in his throat at Namjoon towering over him. He's taller than Yeonjun, sure, but also wider, broader. Something like arousal shoots through Yeonjun. 

"If you ever want to talk about more advanced music theory, I'd be happy to," Namjoon says, and Yeonjun swears he can feel Namjoon's breath, can see the way his chest rises and falls when he speaks. "I have some ideas for how to keep this class engaging for you."

~~~

As it turns out, Yeonjun doesn’t need to wait for Jungkook to text him his number; when Yeonjun walks into his hip-hop dance class later that evening, Jungkook is already in the studio stretching. Jungkook flashes him a shy smile as he waves him over. 

Class starts, and Yeonjun quickly discovers that Jungkook is good at dancing: there’s a way he balances a certain sharpness with softness. He’s precise in his execution. Masculine. Their teacher counts off the start of their routine, after nit-picking the first eight counts yet again, and Yeonjun glances over at Jungkook, raising a skeptical eyebrow and rolling his eyes. Jungkook tries not to laugh, but lets out a little chuckle anyway, which elicits an angry cough from their instructor. “Jungkook. Yeonjun. Please pay attention.”

Class goes on like that, and the two of them fall into an easy rhythm: Jungkook’s sharp movements playing off of Yeonjun’s more fluid ones. It’s when they’re cooling down, sweaty and downing their water after class, that Yeonjun comments on it. “I really like your dancing. You said you’re a dance minor, right? You pick up on choreography so fast.”

Jungkook crinkles his eyes into a bashful smile. They’re basically the same height, but Yeonjun feels so much taller than Jungkook at that moment, looking at the emotion flickering across Jungkook’s eyes at the compliment. “Thank you, you’re really good too.” He worries his bottom lip with those bunny-teeth again, and takes out his ponytail, letting his sweaty black hair fall into his face. “No pressure, but would you want to grab some dinner at the dorms with me?” 

A half hour later, both of them are shoveling noodles into their mouths, cheeks stuffed full with food as they babble on about their first day.

"Wait, what did you say the name of your hot music theory TA is?"

"Haha, Kim Namjoon," Yeonjun replies between bites of food. 

Yeonjun swears Jungkook blushes. "Oh, haha, yeah, he taught my keyboarding class last year. He's...really hot."

Yeonjun throws his arms in the air, accidentally flinging a bit of sauce at Jungkook. "I know! He's so..." He lets out an animated grunt. "What music student is ripped like that?!"

Jungkook simply giggles. "Really though! Damn, you're lucky you get to study with him. He's really smart too. But like, I didn't mind looking at him, either."

They both pause for a second, the implication of their conversation hanging over them, before it settles. 

"Do your parents know?" Jungkook asks, soft all of a sudden. "Wait, sorry, you don't have to answer that if that's too personal."

"No, it's ok. They must. We've never talked about it, but my high school boyfriend and I used to disappear into my room for hours then come out covered in hickeys."

"Subtle."

"Haha, ok, yep, roast me. I was seventeen, what do you expect, emotional maturity?" Yeonjun flicks more sauce at Jungkook. "But yeah, it's not something we've ever really discussed."

"Are you still dating him?"

Again, the implication seems suspended in midair. 

Jungkook puts his hand on his forehead in embarrassment. "Sorry, wow, I'm being really invasive." 

Yeonjun sets his chopsticks down, resting a hand on the table, not quite touching Jungkook's, but close enough. "It's ok, I promise. And no, we're not."

The two of them fall into an easy friendship after that. Their dance class meets Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, meaning that they often walk together to the dining halls for a late dinner together afterward, after most of the students in the dorms have already eaten.

Yeonjun starts picking up on little quirks of Jungkook's, like how he gets nervous when he's put on the spot, but also can pick up on choreography in minutes. How he has a great ear for music, and can sight sing Yeonjun's aural skills homework perfectly on first try, how he gets antsy if there's clutter in his room, how he can eat enough food to feed probably three normal adults. How Jungkook has a lot of friends (of course he does, he's sweet, he's curious about people's lives), but how he doesn't seem to have any real close friends. Except for Yeonjun, maybe. 

"How about you, does your family know?" Yeonjun asks, late on a Saturday night in Jungkook's dorm room, on a night when his roommate is staying at his girlfriend's house. They're not allowed to drink in the dorms, but Jungkook had smuggled in some beers for them anyway. Yeonjun is feeling pleasantly buzzed, comfortable where he's seated across from Jungkook on his small dorm bed, and the words flow easily off his tongue. 

Jungkook gazes across his bed at Yeonjun, face flushed and eyes a little glazed. "They do." 

"Did you tell them?"

Jungkook hesitates, takes a sip of his beer, then another. "Yeah, my ex-- Mingyu-- and I, we were, um, really serious. We dated for two years in high school. His parents knew about us from early on; they were really accepting. My parents, though. It got to a point where it was too hard to hide it from them anymore. So I sat down with them and told them.”

Yeonjun searches Jungkook’s glossy eyes, seeing the tears swirling just behind the surface. “And I take it it didn’t go well?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, shifting his beer bottle around in his hand. “It didn’t go badly, exactly. It’s not like they kicked me out or something. They just said they hoped I would change my mind and find a “nice girl” some day. And to not bring Mingyu around.” Jungkook’s face falls dejectedly. “And like, we still talk on the phone sometimes. But they still ask me if I have a girlfriend, stuff like that.” 

Jungkook trails off, and scoots down to lie on his bed. Yeonjun can see that he’s crying, just a little bit. Yeonjun moves over to the head of Jungkook’s bed and lies behind him, placing his arms around him in a hug. He can hear Jungkook’s soft whimpers, can feel his shallow breaths. Yeonjun holds him for a minute, then leans down to place a soft kiss on his shoulder. They both stay like that in silence until Jungkook’s sniffles subside, then until they both drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags: alcohol (implied underage drinking), recreational drug use (weed), homophobia (internal and external), compulsive behavior, allusions to disordered eating, strained family dynamics
> 
> Fic title taken from ["Eugene"](https://open.spotify.com/track/161iDrAGFqkzeXSaxworBs?si=Y-l22iarRi2gygcFvV16Xg) by Sufjan Stevens. 
> 
> Chapter title taken from ["Black Moss"](https://open.spotify.com/track/43Brqebz9aqpMyoCuqc6ns?si=pT24849ITzqspFpMP8ebdQ) by Johanna Warren. 
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/knotoday)


	2. Thinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and is still following along! I'm feeling really excited about this fic so far, and I'm really glad I get to share it with readers on here!
> 
> Additional warnings are listed at the end of the chapter for anyone who would like to read them ahead of time. Please take them seriously.

**Now**

“Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun looks up at the sound of his name and scans the room. He’s sitting in the lounge area at the dance building, the one with the big windows. Outside, the orange leaves sway in the autumnal breeze. One leaf falls, then another. The date is October 26: five days before Halloween, over a month since his birthday. It’s when he turns fully around that Yeonjun sees him: Jungkook.

“Yeonjun, I haven’t seen you in so long.” Jungkook smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Yeonjun pauses, a full three seconds. One long, deep breath. “Yeah, haven’t seen you either.” Yeonjun feels physically ill, wishing he could shrivel like one of those leaves outside, falling to the ground to decay. To be stepped on. 

Jungkook takes a seat across from Yeonjun at the table he’s working at. “How have you been?” Jungkook asks softly. It’s a fake question, a formality. Yeonjun knows this, Jungkook knows this.

Yeonjun pauses, and silence drags awkwardly between them. Jungkook simply waits, blinking at him with those big eyes, biting his lip with those bunny-rabbit teeth. Yeonjun floods with guilt and can’t hold his gaze.

“I’ve been ok. How are you?” Another empty question with an equally empty answer.

“I’ve actually been doing really well. I don’t know if I told you, but I moved recently. It’s nice living away from campus. I can’t believe how much of the city I had never seen before. I guess you lived off-campus, though, so you know.”

It’s then that Yeonjun realizes. “What are you doing here?”

Yeonjun swears Jungkook’s cheeks turn a shade redder. “Um, I’m bringing lunch to my boyfriend.”

Yeonjun finally meets Jungkook’s eyes then. He says, emotionlessly, “I didn’t know you were dating someone.” Jungkook may have mentioned him; he truly can’t remember.

“Yeah, uh, we started dating late last year. Hoseok-hyung’s, um, actually who I live with now.” Jungkook rubs anxiously at his neck and keeps biting his lip. Yeonjun swears he’s going to draw blood one of these days.

Yeonjun feels dizzy, like the room is suddenly shrinking around him. Did he eat today? He can see the worry flash in Jungkook’s eyes. He’s always been transparent like that.

“Anyway, I should run. Hyung only has an hour before rehearsal.” Jungkook hovers for a moment, but Yeonjun says nothing. “It’s good to see you, Yeonjun-ah. Hey, if you’re free, you should come to my house for Halloween. Hoseokie-hyung and I are having a few friends over, nothing big. I’d really love to catch up, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you. I can text you the address, ok? But also, no pressure.”

As usual, as always, what they don’t say hangs between them.

Unsurprisingly, neither mentions Namjoon.

~~~

If Yeonjun had to describe Soobin’s bedroom in one word, it would be “cozy.” His room is the biggest in the house, and the only one on the main floor, meaning that Yeonjun gets time to himself to unwind in the evenings, when Kai’s cackling laughter is contained to the second floor. Unfortunately, it also means that on evenings like this, when his proxy roommates are yelling in the living room, staying in to play board games, eat candy, and get drunk, he can hear them extra loudly.

The furniture in the room is modest, quaint: a full sized bed tucked neatly in the corner, a loveseat and desk by the opposite wall, a full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. Yeonjun wonders about Soobin sometimes, what he’s like. From what he’s heard, Soobin is an international studies major, studying abroad in Japan for the semester. He found out from Beomgyu that a few of the records in their collection are Soobin’s. All that Yeonjun can really glean from the smattering of Troye Sivan and Frank Ocean albums, though, is that Soobin is maybe sad, and definitely gay. The walls of Soobin’s room are decorated with maps, marked with obscure locations Yeonjun has never heard of: maybe places Soobin has been, or wants to go. He’ll be moved out before Soobin gets back, so it’s not like they’ll meet anyway.

Yeonjun stands in front of Soobin’s mirror, naked except for the orange-brown mini shorts Taehyun and Kai had insisted he buy as part of his costume, despite Beomgyu’s teasing and his own hesitance.

“They’ll look hot, hyung,” Taehyun had insisted, flashing his shark-tooth grin.

“I know _someone_ who’s getting laid at this Halloween party,” Kai had added.

Beomgyu had rolled his eyes, but eventually conceded that, “They do look really good on you, Yeonjun-hyung.”

Yeonjun looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He stares at the sharp lines of his jaw, then trails his gaze downward, stopping at his pronounced collarbones, the way his hips jut out above his waistband. He glances lower, at the obvious curve of his cock trapped in the tiny shorts, then down to the space between his thighs. Yeonjun thinks he looks pale, frail. It’s probably the hottest he’s ever looked. He hates the attention he knows he’ll get, but by the same token he wants it: wants the validation, or at least a distraction.

It’s then that the door to his room bursts open, and Kai and Taehyun come barreling in. “Damn, hyung, you look fucking _good._ ”

They’re drunk; Yeonjun can smell the saccharine liquor on their breaths as they crowd him, grabbing at his shoulders to try to pull him into a weird, hug-wrestling match.

“Can I _please_ put my shirt on?”

Kai hiccups. “Only if you’ll let me put your makeup on.”

Yeonjun isn’t so sure that he trusts Kai to not poke his eye out with an eyeliner pencil in this state, as he continues to jostle Yeonjun, now attempting to pull him to the ground. Yeonjun looks up, and sees that Beomgyu has also walked into his room.

Yeonjun looks at Beomgyu, silently pleading. Beomgyu seems to understand, saying, “I can do your makeup, hyung.” Maybe it’s a concession.  
They head to the desk, Yeonjun taking a seat in the chair and Beomgyu perching himself on the desk for a better angle to apply Yeonjun’s makeup.

“So whose party did you say this was?” Beomgyu asks.

Yeonjun can feel the strokes of the eyeshadow brush across his eyelids as Beomgyu dusts them a shimmery red. He counts two short strokes, then a longer one, before he answers, “It’s my….friend Jungkook’s.”

Yeonjun can feel Beomgyu tense in the way he stops applying eyeshadow. Yeonjun knows his own hesitation isn’t subtle. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We met when I was a freshman. We had a dance class together.”

If Beomgyu wants to say something else, he doesn’t, and starts peppering little eyeliner freckles across Yeonjun’s nose.

“I really miss hanging out with him. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

Beomgyu grunts, a soft affirmation that he’s listening, focused on darkening the tip of Yeonjun’s nose to resemble a fox’s.

Yeonjun can see Taehyun and Kai in his periphery, lying on his bed in a heap. Suddenly, he wants to talk about Jungkook with Beomgyu. He feels like if any of his roommates could understand, it’s him.

“Remember what you told me about how Kai and Taehyun stayed friends with you, even when you weren’t a great friend to them?”

Beomgyu caps the eyeliner, nodding sagely. “All done.” Yeonjun looks Beomgyu in the eyes, and for a second his expression is unreadable, but he continues, “What I’m getting is that you hurt Jungkook. But he stayed. And this is a chance for you to mend things with him.”

Yeonjun gets up to put his shirt on, along with a headband with a pair of reddish-brown ears attached. He looks in the mirror again, but all he sees are the dark bags under his eyes, the shadows cast from the protrusion of his cheek bones.

“Yeonjun, we hurt people. All you can do now is apologize and try to do better.”

Yeonjun wishes he could afford himself that small grace.

~~~

Yeonjun walks to Jungkook’s apartment shortly after that, bidding his roommates farewell from where they have curled up on the couch to launch into some card game. Yeonjun doubts it will last more than a few minutes, if Taehyun and Kai’s level of inebriation is any indicator. It’s only maybe a fifteen-minute walk to Jungkook’s, and Yeonjun passes by the campus music building on his way. In the dark, the brick walls look especially cold, ominous. Along the way, he passes by a few other groups of students, also dressed in Halloween costumes, laughing with their friends, drunkenly yelling amongst themselves, tripping on their own feet. Yeonjun envies the way they seem so carefree, so uninhibited. 

He arrives at Jungkook’s apartment soon thereafter. It’s one of those nice, sleek, modern looking apartments just off the edge of campus. He thinks of how it contrasts dramatically from the older, more run-down home he’s staying at. He types in the room number Jungkook had texted him, and a low voice he doesn’t recognize rings through the speaker. “Is that Yeonjunnie?” 

“Yeah,” he replies simply, nervously.

“I’ll buzz you right in,” the voice hollers. Yeonjun hears a click, and then opens the unlocked door. He finds the elevator, and takes it to Jungkook’s floor. He walks over to Jungkook’s door, stomach sinking as he reaches a clammy hand up to knock once, then again. The same deep voice from downstairs shouts out, “Door’s unlocked, you can come in Yeonjunnie,” and Yeonjun pushes the door open.

He takes a few steps in, taking in how nice the place is. The walls are painted a light grey, contrasting the black and white accents of a few simple paintings hung on the wall: Jungkook’s. As he walks inside, though, he starts seeing details that seem distinctly un-Jungkook: trinkety, colorful figurines and a bright-colored flower stuffed animal rest on a shelf. A Supreme banner hangs from the ceiling. Yeonjun can hear voices coming from further inside, and he continues walking down the hall toward them. 

He reaches the end of the hall, where the apartment opens up into a larger kitchen and living room area. He makes out a few people dancing to some hip-hop music in the living room, but turns his attention to where Jungkook and another man are making drinks in the kitchen. Jungkook looks happy, Yeonjun observes from the entryway, having not yet been noticed. He’s smiling, doe-eyed and a little flushed. He’s dressed in a green tunic and leggings, with a small green cap on his head. The dark waves of his hair curl over his eyes. He looks cute. The other man is slightly shorter, and leaner, waifier, dainty even. He’s attractive, too, Yeonjun thinks fleetingly, in a softer sort of way than Jungkook. The man is dressed in a short green dress and is wearing sparkly fairy wings. His eyes are painted with a glittery, silver eyeshadow. Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Yeonjun watches as the man wraps a hand around Jungkook’s waist and pulls him forward so their torsos are almost touching, then plants a soft kiss to Jungkook’s lips before handing him a drink. Ah, Hoseok. 

The person who must be Hoseok pulls back, turning to look over his shoulder, and locks eyes with Yeonjun. “Ah, Yeonjun-ah!” He runs over and pulls Yeonjun into a hug. “So great to finally meet you! Jungkookie says such sweet things about you.”

Yeonjun glances over at where Jungkook is staring at them like a deer caught in the headlights. All he says is, “Glad you could make it, Yeonjun. This is Hoseokie-hyung.”

Hoseok breaks the hug, but then drapes his arms back over Yeonjun’s shoulders. “You can call me Hobi-hyung, though. You’re special to Jungkook, so it’s ok. Not everyone gets that privilege.” There’s a slight slur to Hoseok’s words, and his eyes look puffy. He’s definitely drunk, maybe a little high. “Can I get you a drink? Wait, do you smoke? I can take you to the smoke room. I’m pretty sure some people are there already. It’s great! We have a star projector!” He’s shouting now.

“Thank you, hyung.” Yeonjun still feels the tension in his shoulders, the anxious clench of his jaw, but Hoseok’s friendliness is at least helping to soothe that a little. Yeonjun tries his best not to meet Jungkook’s eyes, lest the nervousness return. “I’ll just take a beer, if you have any.”

 _“If we have any,”_ Hoseok mocks, waving his arms loftily. “Come with me, young man. Hey, actually,” he leans close to Yeonjun’s face, “Are you even old enough to drink?” For some reason, Yeonjun’s stomach lurches again at that. 

“Hey, quit harassing him, Hoseok-ah,” Yeonjun hears a familiar voice say.

Yeonjun looks up and sees a short, black-haired man dressed in a Snow White costume, complete with a red bow atop his head. Yeonjun does a double take, realizing he knows him. 

“Yoongi-hyung?”

Yoongi waves. “Yeonjun, it’s been a while,” he says.

It’s then that Yeonjun notices the man standing next to him. He’s tall, dressed in a black cloak, long white wig, and makeup that makes him look about eighty years old. Despite that, there’s a handsomeness to this man, in the way that he carries himself and in the stoic look he gives Yeonjun. 

“Good to see you,” Seokjin says, eyes scanning Yeonjun, probably taking in his costume. 

Yeonjun freezes. He doesn’t share the sentiment, and would rather the older couple not be here. He smiles, though, and simply replies, “You too,” before following Hoseok over to the fridge. 

“So we have some PBR or some bougie IPA’s Yoongi-hyung brought over. Take your pick.” Hoseok motions vaguely in the direction of the beers.

Yeonjun takes stock: two beers with a fancy-looking green label, one with a purple picture of a dragon, maybe eight PBR’s. He’s spiraling. “I’ll, um, take whatever is strongest.” Yeonjun knows he should go home, knows he doesn’t want to talk to Yoongi or Seokjin. But he still wants to stay to talk to Jungkook, too, and maybe apologize if he gets the chance.

Hoseok giggles, nods, then hands Yeonjun a green label beer. “Have fun, kid,” Hoseok says, running off to join two girls dancing in the living room.

Suddenly, Yeonjun is left alone with a stunned-looking Jungkook and a softly-conversing Yoongi and Seokjin. Jungkook it is. 

“Your place is really nice, Jungkook-hyung.”

Jungkook smiles, running a hand nervously through the waves at the nape of his neck. “Thanks, um, it’s mostly hyung, though. He has such an aesthetic eye.”

“It’s you, too, though, I saw your paintings,” Yeonjun encourages. He wants to be the caretaker again, someone who uplifts Jungkook. He’s not sure of the exact moment when their dynamic changed, but he misses it. He takes a swig of his beer, then another. “C’mon, show me around. I wanna see this _illustrious_ smoke room.”

Jungkook giggles, flashing the bunny teeth he remembers for just a second. Yeonjun thinks he might be drunk already, as he takes in Jungkook’s curly hair, big nose, and small smile, wanting to laugh with him like they used to two years ago. 

Jungkook motions for Yeonjun to follow him into the living room, waving at a couple girls that Yeonjun recognizes as dance grad students. They head to the speakers. “Check out the new records Hoseok-hyung bought me for my birthday.” It’s all sad indie, Jungkook’s favorite: Turnover, the new The 1975 record. Yeonjun thinks maybe Soobin and Jungkook should meet. 

“Check this one out.” Jungkook motions at a red record with a doodle of a woman eating a hotdog on it. It looks cute, whimsical. “Hoseok had this one printed special. Her name’s Snail Mail. I’m honestly obsessed.”

Jungkook reaches for the record player, mumbling out a soft, “Sorry,” when the music stops playing and someone on the dance floor groans in annoyance. He starts the Snail Mail record, then sits down on the couch, waving at Yeonjun to come sit with him. 

Yeonjun isn’t sure what he was expecting when a soft electric guitar riff begins at the start of the song, but it definitely isn’t the raspy female voice that spits out, “Haven’t felt right in a week, and I’m thinning out, and it hurts bad, I gotta get back.” He crosses his hands in his lap, and doesn’t look Jungkook in the eyes. He can feel Jungkook’s gaze burning holes in the side of his head as he reaches out a hand, placing it next to Yeonjun’s on the couch. Not touching, not even really an invitation, but there, nonetheless. Things they don’t say, don’t do, hanging, suspended. Their usual fare. 

If they were going to talk, it’s interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly intoxicated boy in a Joker costume who plops himself directly in Jungkook’s lap, arms splayed out across him, one landing on the side of Yeonjun’s leg. “Oops, sorry man,” the boy mumbles, and Yeonjun suddenly realizes that he recognizes him.

“Wait, you’re a grad student, right? You play saxophone?”

The man hiccups, swiveling on Jungkook’s lap to face Yeonjun. He reaches out a hand, as if to shake his. “Kim Taehyung, and you are?”

A Kim. His voice is deep, warm. Yeonjun suddenly feels too bare in only his tank top and shorts. Taehyung is pretty, like so many of Jungkook and Hoseok’s friends seem to be. But different, too. His eyes are lined a dark black, but below that Yeonjun can make out his long, long eyelashes, framing his big eyes. Taehyung blinks, leaning forward, and Yeonjun realizes he’s staring. “I’m Choi Yeonjun. I’m a music minor, and I feel like I’ve seen you around the music building.”

Taehyung stares silently from his perch on Jungkook’s lap, then lets out a deep belly-laugh. “You caught me! And I thought I’d have some anonymity here!” He rolls forward, head falling into Yeonjun’s lap. Jungkook looks at Yeonjun apologetically, trying to tug Taehyung up off of him. Finally, Taehyung sits up, but keeps staring at Yeonjun. 

“You’re cute.”

Yeonjun blinks dumbly. Yeah, he supposes he is cute, dressed up in his little fox costume. But has Taehyung seen himself? It’s a lot to take in: the emotional whiplash of maybe finally talking to Jungkook after so many months of radio silence, followed by the compliment from this extremely attractive stranger. Yeonjun wrestles with his next move. He did get dressed up for a reason, knowing he wanted the distraction of perhaps getting fucked by a stranger tonight. But on the other hand, this is Jungkook’s house, and he came specifically to reconnect with Jungkook. He’s not sure that sloppily hooking up with one of Jungkook’s friends is the best way to do that. Yeonjun finishes his beer while he weighs his options. The alcohol begins to hit him finally, and he stalls by getting up to grab another from the kitchen. When he gets there, he notices Seokjin is still there too, mixing himself some clear, bubbly cocktail. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

“You want one?” Seokjin inches closer to Yeonjun so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. Yeonjun can make out the smell of his cologne, something subtle and clean, like sandalwood. The smell immediately puts him on edge, but with the alcohol in his system he feels a tinge of something else, too, something a little headier, more sensual. 

He glances over at Seokjin’s face and wants to laugh. This man dressed as the witch from Snow White is offering him a drink. Below the age makeup, though, Yeonjun can tell Seokjin is attractive. Just another in this list of stunningly beautiful friends that are Jungkook’s, not his. He thinks of pretty Taehyung draped across pretty Jungkook on the couch, who’s dating pretty Hoseok. In that moment, Yeonjun makes up his mind. Whether it’s because he wants the distraction, or just because of the alcohol, Yeonjuns decides that just this once, he’ll drink the poison. 

“I’ll take something sweet,” Yeonjun answers, biting his lip as he holds Seokjin’s gaze. Yoongi isn’t around; he can be shameless. 

“Attaboy,” Seokjin counters. He looks about as hungry as Yeonjun feels. Quickly, he mixes up something dark pink and fizzy. It tastes fruity on Yeonjun’s tongue when he takes a sip. 

Yeonjun downs the drink quickly, remembering he doesn’t _like_ Seokjin and shouldn’t be doing this. Subtly, under the countertops and out of view from anyone outside of the kitchen, Seokjin runs a hand along the hem of Yeonjun’s shorts, fingertips barely grazing the sensitive skin on his upper thigh. He turns to completely face Yeonjun, chest flush to his, nearly touching, as he says, “Heard about you and Namjoon.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it means nothing.

Yeonjun feels his chest lurch at Namjoon’s name, and he takes a moment to steady himself. Two drinks in, two people in the cramped kitchen. Seokjin and Yoongi: two people in one relationship. Yeonjun grinds his hardening cock into Seokjin’s palm where it has drifted higher below the counter. “Let’s find a room.”

Seokjin simply laughs, eyes gleaming with something eager. He gives Yeonjun’s cock a small squeeze, then motions for Yeonjun to follow him. He leads them down the hall and through the last door, into a small bedroom. Yeonjun looks around. The decor is simple, sleek. Sophisticated for adults barely past college age. Seokjin wraps an arm around Yeonjun’s waist once he closes the door behind them, and he leads Yeonjun to the bed, motioning for him to sit down next to him. It’s then that Yeonjun notices there’s no pillows on the bed. Jungkook definitely sleeps here.

Seokjin moves fast, placing a hand on the side of Yeonjun’s neck and cupping his jaw as he pulls Yeonjun toward him into a kiss that turns instantly filthy. He parts Yeonjun’s lips with his own, sliding in his tongue to lick along the roof of Yeonjun’s mouth. Yeonjun can feel himself slipping into a familiar headspace, the want to give up control to someone older and more experienced palpable as he lets Seokjin grasp at the shaggy hair on his neck and pull. Seokjin tilts Yeonjun’s head upward, and Yeonjun lets out a breathy whine as Seokjin trails his lips down Yeonjun’s exposed neck. 

“Hm, so pretty, baby,” Seokjin mumbles into the sensitive skin at Yeonjun’s collarbone.

Yeonjun lets out another soft sigh, feeling pliant under the weight of the drinks in his system, and under the warmth of Seokjin’s touch. Seokjin takes Yeonjun’s hand and places it in his lap. Yeonjun can feel the tent under his oversized black robe, and wells up with a little pride when Seokjin bucks his hips up to meet Yeonjun’s touch. 

Seokjin nibbles at Yeonjun’s ear while Yeonjun starts slowly stroking him over his clothing. He gives a few more short tugs before Seokjin gasps into his ear, “You wanna see, it, Yeonjun-ah?”

Right as Yeonjun is about to respond, the door slams open, and Yeonjun lurches backward, away from Seokjin. Yoongi stumbles in, face lighting up when he sees Seokjin. “There you are, baby! I’ve been looking for you! You said you were going to come dance with me.” Yoongi’s eyes look wild, bloodshot, little bits of makeup smeared around the edges, as he walks over and drapes his arms over Seokjin’s shoulders. He puckers his lips out, and Seokjin obliges, leaning in without hesitation to give him a peck. Suddenly, Yeonjun feels out of place at this party, over his head here, anywhere. He wonders if his makeup looks as messy as Yoongi’s now, if it’s obvious what he and Seokjin had just been up to. Yeonjun wretches. His vision shoots white, but when he goes to stand up, Yoongi reaches out and places a hand on Yeonjun’s leg. “Yeonjun, it’s good to see you. Namjoonie says he misses you.”

Seokjin glances over then with a small smirk, his hand having moved to Yoongi’s waist, holding on possessively. Yeonjun can feel the room spinning around him, the sleek interior suddenly feeling stagnant, oppressive in its impersonality. He ignores Yoongi’s hand, Seokjin’s sick grin, and bolts out of the room. Once he’s in the dark hallway, the guilt starts to sink in, mixed with the mind-numbing panic. Yeonjun looks around. He can see the flashing lights and hear the music pumping to his left in the living room. He turns to his right, toward the door, and in the dark, he can make out a mass on the opposite wall, only a few feet from him. Quickly, he realizes, it’s two bodies, grinding against each other. As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he starts to make out more details. A short dress, a little hat. Suddenly, the figure facing him, whose back is against the wall, throws his head back with a soft whine. “Mmm, Hoseokie-hyung.” The figure opens his eyes then, just a little, revealing slivers of white, hooded and lustful in the dark. He meets Yeonjun’s gaze as he whimpers again. Jungkook. At that, Yeonjun turns and runs out the apartment door.

**Then**

"What did you think of the article I texted you yesterday?" Namjoon grins as Yeonjun pulls a chair up to his desk and takes a seat.

“The one about _To Pimp a Butterfly?_ Hm, let me see. Too cursory, also kind of pretentious.” He’s exaggerating a little, because he likes how Namjoon gets when he pushes his buttons.

It seems to work; Namjoon leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “Hey, you could have just said you didn’t like it!”

Yeonjun leans forward and smiles up at Namjoon. “Ok then, I didn’t like it.”

Namjoon lets out a laugh: one loud, booming cackle. It’s the laugh Yeonjun has grown to know is his real laugh, compared to the stiffer, fake one he uses when someone in class mistakes a tonicization for a modulation, even when the difference was explained to them just minutes earlier.

“How would you have described ‘Mortal Man,’ then? If not in a _cursory_ way?”

Yeonjun laughs, waving his arms in the air and practically jumping out of his seat. “I wouldn’t! That’s the thing! It’s self-explanatory. It doesn’t need my description.”

Namjoon looks him in the eyes, smiling fondly. “You’re so different from everyone else in your class.”

Yeonjun knows this. He’s known since the second day of class, probably, when multiple people mischaracterized a dominant-seventh chord as a major-seventh chord. “I mean yeah, obviously.”

Namjoon bites his lip and smirks some more as he glances down to the chain necklace around Yeonjun’s neck. “You’re more confident than most college freshmen. I feel like you already have such a handle on who you are. Like look at how you dress. I remember you wore a beret on the first day of class. That really stood out to me.”

Yeonjun loves the attention, blushing at the way Namjoon continues to stare intently at him. He suddenly feels warm, like the heat has been turned up in the room.

Namjoon leans forward, so his face is mere inches from Yeonjun’s. “I have to go to class now, but let’s talk more soon, yeah?” He gets up, smirk still plastered on his face, dimples still out, all the way until he turns and leaves the room.

~~~

“Earth to Yeonjun!”

Yeonjun glances up from his phone to where Jungkook is standing above him. Today they’re in Yeonjun’s room-- a rare single because of some clerical mixup with roommate assignments. Not that he’s mad; for the most part he likes having the extra space to decorate his room with music posters (the big Nicki Minaj and Taemin ones are personal favorites), but he does get lonely at times, and occasionally wishes he had someone to listen to records or smoke his smuggled-in weed with. He can imagine how he and some hypothetical roommate would collapse in a fit of laughter, trying to haphazardly plug the crack under their door with a towel before conspicuously blowing smoke out their second-floor dorm window. At least Yeonjun has Jungkook to fill some roomateless void. They hang out most days, anyway, and sometimes Jungkook stays over if he’s too tired to walk back to his own dorm. All things considered, Yeonjun can’t exactly say he’s upset about his dorm setup.

“Who are you texting?” Jungkook follows up, plopping down on the bed next to Yeonjun. He looks over at the screen, and Yeonjun quickly tries to hide his phone away from where Jungkook can see. He’s too slow, though, and Jungkook grabs it, proceeding to read his text conversation out loud.

_Yeah I’ve never tried making beats before. I bet you’re really good at them, though. You’ll have to show me how sometime._

_I think there’s a lot of fun things I could teach you ;)_

Jungkook looks up, an expression of abject horror on his face. “The winking emoji, really Yeonjun-ah? Are you _sexting_ while we’re hanging out?”

Yeonjun sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back. He tries his best to stay calm, but inside he’s brimming with excitement. “I mean, we’re not _sexting_ sexting, right? You’re reading into it. Namjoon-hyung is just offering to help me work on some beats. As like an additional project for theory class.”

“Wait, pause. _Namjoon-hyung?”_ Jungkook mimics incredulously.

Yeonjun pouts at Jungkook. “Hyungiieee, he’s just casual. Everyone in the class calls him Namjoon. He just, like, doesn’t believe in artificial social hierarchies.”

“Or, he’s trying to fuck.”

Yeonjun’s cheeks flush red as he rolls over and starts tickling Jungkook’s waist, trying to wrestle the phone back from him. Jungkook is strong, though, and fast, quickly pushing Yeonjun off and running to the other side of the room. It’s then that Yeonjun’s phone lights up again. Holding Yeonjun away from him with one hand, Jungkook opens the text and starts reading aloud. “You said you’re in your room, right? You should show me.”

Yeonjun yells out a “hey,” and keeps grabbing for his phone, but Jungkook simply holds it higher, continuing to read aloud, “Anyway, headed to the gym right now. Can’t wait to see what you’re up to. Talk to you later.”

“Oh, there’s a photo attached. Let’s open it, shall we?”

“Hyung please, give me my phone back!” Yeonjun knows it’s futile, knows that once Jungkook sets his mind to something, he’ll follow through with it no matter what. And it’s not that he cares so much about the _principle_ of Jungkook reading his texts, it’s more that he’s not sure that he’s ready for Jungkook to know that yes, he might be flirting with his hot TA, and _yes,_ he might be interested in doing slightly more with him than simply flirting.

Jungkook opens the photo and pauses, the arm that was holding Yeonjun at bay dropping to the ground, sending Yeonjun barreling directly into him. Jungkook remains silent, not even flinching at the impact, still staring at Yeonjun’s phone, until finally he yells, “Oh. My. _God,”_ shoving the phone into Yeonjun’s face. “You guys are _totally_ going to fuck.”

It takes Yeonjun’s eyes a second to focus, with the closeness of his phone, but when they finally do, his jaw drops to the floor. The photo is a slightly blurry mirror selfie, showing someone who must be Namjoon from the chest down. He’s wearing a fitted white tee, large pecs pulling the fabric tight across his chest. Even more scandalous, though, are his grey sweatpants, which visibly hug the outline of his dick. He’s definitely hard. Yeonjun yells, “Oh my god,” parroting Jungkook, then flops back down on his bed, using the better angle to zoom in on Namjoon’s crotch.

Jungkook kneels down beside Yeonjun on the bed. “I can’t _believe_ you said you guys weren’t sexting. ‘Oh Jungkook, Namjoon-hyung just wants to make some beats together, and if both our dicks are out, that’s just a pleasant coincidence.’”

“Hyungggg stop.” Yeonjun feels the red in his cheeks deepen, and he goes to cover his face with his hands. Jungkook reaches out, gently taking one of his hands in his own and slowly prying it away from his face.

“Yeonjun, seriously though, it’s ok if you like him. It’s ok if you guys hook up, or whatever it is you both want to do.” Jungkook meets Yeonjun’s gaze, and his eyes are searching, a little watery, as they often are. He looks earnest, something Yeonjun can always count on with him. There’s something else there, though, too. Maybe a hint of melancholy, as he continues, “I just want you to be safe. I know it’s fun to flirt, and he seems like a genuinely nice guy. But please, just be careful.”

Yeonjun wants to listen to Jungkook’s words. He knows that sweet, sentimental Jungkook has Yeonjun’s best interests in mind. But also, there’s a part of Jungkook’s warning that they both know falls on deaf ears. Yeonjun _wants:_ to take, to get. And like Jungkook, when Yeonjun sets his mind to something, he follows through.

~~~

The rest of the weekend passes uneventfully after that. Jungkook leaves Yeonjun’s dorm room for the night, giving Yeonjun a wink and the promise of “privacy” to respond to Namjoon’s text. Yeonjun replies with a modest photo, all things considered, sending back a selca of himself lying in his bed, wearing a cute smiley-face crop top and jeans. Namjoon responds with a simple, “cute :-),” and they don’t text anymore after that. Similarly, his Monday morning theory class passes without incident, Namjoon staying surprisingly on-task, likely because of the pressure of the approaching winter exams. Yeonjun is still unsure how to approach Namjoon about the flirtatious photos; however, Namjoon beats him to it.

“You looked really good in that picture Friday night,” he says, approaching Yeonjun’s desk after class.

“Ha, thanks, how was working out? Didn’t know you were a gym rat.” They’re back at it, this push-pull, cat-and-mouse exchange. They tease, then back off. Hot-cold. Yeonjun feels like his skin is aflame when Namjoon laughs at that, dimples peeking out on both cheeks.

Namjoon takes a step closer, so their faces are only inches apart, and places a hand down next to Yeonjun’s on his desk. Yeonjun swears he can feel Namjoon’s warm breath on his face as he asks, “You wanna take a walk?”

Yeonjun’s heart pounds in his chest. “Are you asking me out?” He wants to ask. Or, “Is this what those photos were leading toward?” He trusts Namjoon to lead, though, and feels a part of himself yearning to relinquish control, in favor of simply letting this hot older grad student take the reins. It feels good to be wanted like this, wanted like he wants Namjoon. Next to him, around him, in him, even. “Yes.”

Yeonjun and Namjoon head out of the music building together, walking toward the forested, residential neighborhood right off of campus. They chat about the same things they always do: music, class, life as a freshman, life as a graduate student. It's one of those rare, balmy winter days, where the sky is overcast enough to hold in some heat. There's a static in the air, like it could rain, but something has yet to shift to push the clouds over the edge.

They walk for about fifteen minutes, before Namjoon suggests they make a right turn. "I wanna show you something." Namjoon's hand brushes the outside of Yeonjun's, and he holds it there for a moment, slowly running his pointer finger over the back of Yeonjun's hand. "Can I tell you something?" He turns slowly toward Yeonjun, expression serious, but soft. They're still walking, but definitely slower, both of them looking each other in the eyes. Namjoon continues, "I really like you, obviously." Yeonjun's heart races in his chest. He feels speechless, winded even from the short walk. He glances forward, at the hill Namjoon is leading them both toward. "I just feel like I can talk to you, so much easier than I can talk to anyone else."

Yeonjun smiles. He's so infatuated, with Namjoon's dimples, with the eloquent way he talks, with the attention he receives from him. "I feel the same way."

"Can I hold your hand?" Namjoon asks, and it's so much shyer than Yeonjun is used to from him. Yeonjun nods, holding Namjoon's gaze as they link hands and continue walking up the hill. Most of the trees are bare and leafless, but the conifers still have their needles, and Yeonjun imagines that in the spring this walk is probably gorgeous. There are only a few houses this high up: the sleek, modern, boxy kind that are built upward, rather than out. Barring the obvious proof that people live there, the path seems otherwise untraversed.

They continue walking, and Namjoon keeps talking. "I guess it's worth saying, but I also think you're...very hot." The sentence would sound corny leaving anyone else's mouth, but in Namjoon's husky baritone voice it just sounds warm, sensual. He runs his hand up the inside of Yeonjun's wrist, and Yeonjun swears he feels electricity in each place Namjoon touches. "Can I be really forward with you?"

Yeonjun nods again, unable to find words, mostly just struck by the fact that his puppy-crush on his hot teacher is actually being reciprocated.

"I really want to, like, explore being sexual with you. If that's something you're interested in, of course. I swear every day in class I get so distracted trying to teach, I don't know, key changes, and then suddenly you're blowing everyone out of the water, and wearing a damn _crop top,_ and _god,_ I just want to bend you over my desk right there."

Yeonjun feels his dick twitch feebly in his pants. "I feel the same, I mean, sometimes I feel like I'm pointing out everyone's mistakes just to get a rise out of you. I don't know, it’s almost like it's addictive. I had no idea you thought about me like that. I mean, I wondered, but I kept talking myself out of it. Like, hyung, I'm young, _you know?"_

"God Yeonjun-ah, I know, I fucking know. It scares me, to be honest. I could get in trouble if anyone knew I was even thinking that, let alone acting on it. But it's hot, too, isn't it?"

They're at the top of the hill now, by a sign that reads "Emerald Park." Nearby is a little clearing where some rocks mark what clearly looks like garden plots, although right now the gardens are empty, lifeless. In the distance, the city is visible, just beginning to light up as the afternoon sky starts to dim. They take a seat on a park bench overlooking the view. Namjoon keeps their hands linked as he turns to face Yeonjun. "Maybe it's selfish, but I want to pursue this."

Yeonjun immediately blurts out, "I do too!'

With his other hand, Namjoon brushes back one of Yeonjun's stray hairs, tucking it behind his ear. "Shh, you'll disrupt the plants."

Yeonjun quickly backpedals. "Sorry, hyung."

Namjoon smiles again, and there they are, the dimples. "It's all good. Do you want to kiss?"

Yeonjun nods, caught on his words again, nervous to say the wrong thing. He wants to be good, to be the model student, partner, impress Namjoon by showing that he can be mature, that he can listen and do right.

In a low voice, barely reaching above a whisper, Namjoon says, "Alright, I'm gonna kiss you then." He leans forward, and presses his full lips softly to Yeonjun's. Right away, Yeonjun melts at the softness, the bit of moisture. He deepens the kiss quickly, running his tongue along the edge of Namjoon's plush lower lip, whining as he grinds his hips forward slightly, seeking friction.

Instead of pushing forward to meet Yeonjun, though, Namjoon drops his hand away from Yeonjun's cheek and pulls back. "Have you even kissed anyone before?"

Yeonjun feels himself shudder, visibly shaking with adrenaline. "Yeah?"

Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head slightly. Yeonjun feels like his lungs are deflating until Namjoon finally speaks again. "I have so much to teach you. Here, let me show you. Try going slower, at least at the beginning." Namjoon leans in again, and Yeonjun's eyes flutter shut as he focuses on the sensation of Namjoon's lips against his. Instead of trying to lick into Namjoon's mouth this time, he simply lets Namjoon lead, deciding the pacing of their kiss for himself. He discovers that the way that Namjoon kisses is much more languid: all slow movements, light touches on Yeonjun's cheek, a small grab of his waist, a finger brushing the inside of his thigh. He shudders, and he can feel Namjoon let out a sharp breath as he moves down to mouth at Yeonjun's neck. Again, Yeonjun rolls his hips forward, but this time Namjoon steadies him with a wide hand placed firmly on his thigh. "Patience, you're learning so fast."

Yeonjun whimpers at the praise, and settles for letting Namjoon nip at his collar as he runs his long fingers over the edge of his waistband. Yeonjun wants to touch Namjoon, but isn't sure if he is allowed. Finally, after what feels like minutes, Namjoon pulls back, just a couple inches. He takes his thumb and presses it against Yeonjun's lower lip. "Open." Yeonjun obliges, parting his lips to suck on Namjoon's thumb. Namjoon runs a gentle hand through Yeonjun's hair as he instructs him to keep sucking. "Great job, baby, you listen so well." 

Yeonjun swears the breeze picks up, temperature dropping maybe a degree, maybe two. On his shoulder, he feels a single raindrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: cheating, dubious consent for sex under the influence of alcohol and mention of dissociation while hooking up, panic attack, controlling behavior, abuse of power, mention of disordered eating, drug use (weed)
> 
> For further clarification of specific tags, or just to say hi, here is my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/knotoday)
> 
> Chapter title borrowed from ["Thinning"](https://open.spotify.com/track/12Eg39q87Bi9FN99roiI11?si=RcWMi-mtSWGKmEL68A0CuA) by Snail Mail.


	3. Creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is still reading! Additional warnings for this chapter are listed at the bottom of the page. There are some pretty intense warnings for this chapter, so please check those out ahead of time if you are concerned. Alright, without further ado:

**Now**

Yeonjun wakes up on November 1st with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. He lies in bed for a minute, before the events of the previous night come rushing back to him. He remembers the way Seokjin had run his hand up his thigh, his touch feeling too warm in the stuffy bedroom. He remembers the exact tone of Seokjin’s voice, and can picture the dim purple lighting in the room. He lets his hungover mind wander, imagining how it would have felt to stay with Seokjin as he had lifted up his cloak, watching as Seokin slowly slid down the waistband of his briefs to pull out his cock. He pictures himself leaning forward, taking the head of Seokjin’s dick in his mouth, swirling his tongue to taste the bitter precum before sinking lower. He imagines how Seokjin would whine, strangled and high-pitched, the thrum of alcohol in both their systems numbing them to the party outside the bedroom door. 

It hurts to think about how easily Seokjin could have taken advantage of Yeonjun’s intoxicated state, how pliant he would have been if Seokjin had been more pushy, had tried to force Yeonjun’s head down onto his dick. Yeonjun starts to feel himself growing hard, and he reaches down to slide his hand into his underwear, leisurely stroking himself. He hates it, feels sick to his stomach, arousal shooting though him like a fire as he keeps stroking, slow, long movements from the base all the way to the tip. What if Yeonjun had yelled? Would Seokjin have stopped? He continues to jerk himself off, cock heavy and wet with precum in his hand, as he imagines Seokjin fucking up into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat with each rough thrust of his hips. Would Yeonjun have cried? Would he have gagged at the feeling of being held down, forced to relinquish control? What if Yoongi hadn’t walked in until minutes later? Yeonjun imagines the look of horror, of betrayal on Yoongi’s face at the sight of Seokjin holding Yeonjun down, spluttering on his own tears and spit as Seokjin cums down his throat. At that image, Yeonjun cums all over his hand, painting the inside of his boxers white. 

Yeonjun lets himself sit in his mess for a moment, dwelling on the lingering feeling of _dirtiness._ His mind wanders hazily to a memory of Namjoon, then back. Seokjin could have hurt Yeonjun, but he didn’t. Perhaps by choice, perhaps by circumstance. Yeonjun asks himself the same thing he often does: why is he too useless to do _anything?_ Be used, not be used. Break up, not break up. Put the knife to his skin, or don’t. Lists of things he’s failed at, piled up to numbers he’s long-since lost track of. Yeonjun rolls over to grab some tissues off his nightstand. Once he’s pulled off his soiled underwear and cleaned himself up, he checks his phone: two new texts, both from numbers he doesn’t recognize. Nothing from Jungkook. The first text he opens is from Hoseok.

_YEONJUNNIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Thanks for coming over last night! Sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye,,,,Jungkookie and I got a //little distracted// (if you catch my drift)....,,,,,ANYWAY we would love to have you over again!!!!!! Really whenever just let me know!!!!_

The next one catches him by surprise. It’s from Taehyung.

_hey its tae we should hang sometime if your free_

He doesn’t remember giving his number to Taehyung; he must have gotten it from Jungkook. Yeonjun thinks for a moment, of the pounding in his head, of the underlying feeling of boredom, and below that, a cloying nothingness. He quickly types out a response to Taehyung.

_Yeah I’m free, what are you up to this morning?_

He waits a minute, still laying in bed, mindlessly scrolling apps on his phone. Kai posted a picture on Instagram of he and Taehyun sprawled across a grimacing Beomgyu on the living room couch, captioned with a bunch of Halloween-themed emojis. There’s one comment, from a user named “bunnynim,” that simply reads “miss you guys.” Yeonjun taps on the account, and is greeted with a simple, sleek profile, featuring mostly aesthetic shots of buildings in what he would guess is Japan. He scrolls down a little, and a photo catches his eye. It’s a picture of Beomgyu with his arm around another, much taller man. Beomgyu’s hair was black then, a stark contrast to the taller person’s gray-purple hair. The photo is dated from June of that year, with the simple caption, “Last day as roommates.” Something clicks in Yeonjun’s head: this person must be Soobin. With that in mind, Yeonjun scrolls back up, and he starts to notice more small details as he looks through the more recent photos. There are a few photos of maps, which seem to be Soobin’s favorite subject. There’s a picture of a large hand holding bubble tea, which Yeonjun infers must be Soobin’s hand. In general, the composition of the photos is clean and pleasant, and for the second time in two days, Yeonjun thinks Soobin and Jungkook could become friends. Suddenly, Yeonjun’s phone flashes with a text, and he opens it.

_not much hbu?_

Attached is a photo, a selfie of Taehyung from the shoulders up, obviously shirtless. The photo is vaguely silly, in the same way it's vaguely sexual, and Yeonjun is bored and could use a distraction from the feeling of disgust lingering just below his skin. He snaps a quick picture of his unclothed torso from where he's splayed out on his bed. The gesture seems familiar, but he pushes that thought aside and sends the picture to Taehyung. The reply comes instantly. 

_u just cum or something?_

Yeonjun responds back just as fast: _Yeah, but I can get hard again quick._

Taehyung texts him his address, and about twenty minutes later, Yeonjun is face down in Taehyung’s bed, ass in the hair as Taehyung pushes down on the back of his neck and sinks into him.

~~~

It’s maybe an hour later, when they’re both drenched in sweat and passing a joint back and forth, that Taehyung asks him, “You’re a dancer, right?”

Yeonjun carefully sets the joint down in the ashtray on Taehyung’s nightstand, before turning to face him. He runs a hand slowly down Taehyung’s tanned chest as he asks, “What makes you say that?”

“Fuckin’ flexible. You should meet my friend Jimin. Jungkook too, although you’d know that.”

Yeonjun’s hand freezes. “What?”

“I mean obviously you guys used to fuck, you’re so awkward around each other.”

“Wait, what? No. But you have?”

“Duh. Well, before him and Hoseok-hyung started dating, don’t worry.” Taehyung shimmies closer to Yeonjun, then reaches across him to pick up the joint and his lighter. He busies himself with relighting it, chest still pressed to Yeonjun’s. Yeonjun can feel the slow pounding of Taehyung’s heartbeat against his own racing one, the slick of their sweat mingling between them. It’s a messy observation. 

Taehyung pulls back, dark eyes searching Yeonjun’s, as he takes a drag. There’s still a tiny bit of black liner around his eyes and flecks of white and red face paint caught in his morning stubble. He looks unhinged. Yeonjun hasn’t looked in a mirror, but he probably doesn’t look any better. A fitting pair, he supposes. 

Taehyung seems to make up his mind not to push the subject of Yeonjun and Jungkook, and Yeonjun, similarly, doesn’t ask about Taehyung’s history with him. Instead, Taehyung settles for, “So, you wanna get lunch then? I worked up an appetite, that’s for sure.”

~~~

After they get dressed, Yeonjun in his joggers and a loose button-up he picked up off of Taehyung’s floor, and Taehyung in a tee, athletic shorts (an interesting choice for November, Yeonjun notes), and a backwards red snapback, they walk a few blocks to an otherwise empty, greasy-spoon type diner. Taehyung immediately slides into a booth in the back of the restaurant, and waves over the elderly waitress, before ordering a collection of stew, meats, and side dishes, before Yeonjun even has a chance to open the menu.

“Will that be everything for you, dear?” She asks, clearly having encountered Taehyung and his giant appetite before.

“Yes, that should be everything for us, thank you noona.” 

The woman gives him a fond smile and a slight nod of her head, before walking off toward the kitchen. 

Before Yeonjun has a chance to say anything, Taehyung claps his hands on the table and leans forward with a serious look on his face. “So, tell me everything about yourself. Except for the unimportant stuff, naturally.” He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with someone you’ve known for less than 24 hours. Yeonjun supposes it’s a slightly more fair question if he considers that Taehyung’s dick was in his ass not an hour prior. They may have taken things out of order, just a little. 

“Ok, well, I study dance, as you already figured out--.”

Taehyung winks dramatically.

“--and I minor in music.”

Taehyung lifts up a hand abruptly to cut off Yeonjun. “Let’s stop right there. Those are just things you _do,_ not who you _are._ Let me give you an example. I could say, ‘I’m Kim Taehyung and I play saxophone,’ but what does that tell you other than that I’m going to work in food service my whole life? But then I could tell you that my favorite artist is Manet, and suddenly you could tell me everything about my relationship with my parents.”

Yeonjun is fairly certain that isn’t how sharing one’s taste in art works, but the tone of the conversation piques his interest just enough to continue. It feels familiar. A place he can settle into. 

Taehyung looks at him expectantly. “Go on, tell me what you know about me. And your favorite artist, then I’ll tell you about you.” 

Yeonjun looks into Taehyung's eyes. Smiles. “Ok. Fine. Um, Manet was French, so you’re a romantic. You like to care for your lovers.” 

The waitress returns with their food before Yeonjun can continue, setting down plate after plate of pork belly, crispy rice cakes, kimchi, spinach, stew, and fish cakes. Immediately, Taehyung picks up his chopsticks and starts shovelling food into his mouth, effectively devouring the meat before Yeonjun can even grab his chopsticks. “Go on,” Taehyung says, mouth full of rice.

“Uh, ok, so you’re, um, generous?”

“Obviously not,” Taehyung gestures in the direction of the food he basically inhaled in front of him, “Also you brought money, right? Music is definitely not paying the bills right now.” Yeonjun stares at him blankly as he continues, “But keep going, tell me about my childhood.”

“Uh…” He takes the opportunity to eat a single bite of sweet rice. “Well, ok, your parents are divorced? And you’re an only child, and got bounced between their homes your whole childhood?” Yeonjun looks for any sign of approval from Taehyung, but in front of him he’s simply staring, chewing at an alarming pace. Yeonjun worries for his jaw. Taehyung motions for Yeonjun to continue. “Ok, and, um, because of that, you often find yourself feeling worried the people you love will leave you, and you have a hard time forming close attachments with people.” He finishes there, and takes a bite of kimchi, waiting for Taehyung to respond. 

Taehyung slowly sets down his chopsticks without saying anything. He stares seriously at the table, before lurching back and letting out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Damn you’re soooo wrong, Yeonjun-ah, oh my god! That’s some real projection there, though, maybe you gotta work some stuff out for yourself. Phew.” He wipes tears from the corners of his eyes, small giggles still punctuating the silence of the restaurant. “My parents are very much together, and are really supportive. But like, are you good?” He bursts into another fit of laughter, and Yeonjun finds himself following, caught up in Taehyung’s chaotic, infectious glow. 

Taehyung’s face gets serious again, like a switch flips back off. “You never told me your favorite artist.”

“Oh, um, I hadn’t really thought about it before, but Rodin, I guess?” 

Tae’s face remains surprisingly blank for someone with inordinate amounts of food chipmunked in their cheeks. “Damn,” he seems to settle on. “You really _aren’t_ ok.” 

Yeonjun chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Great observation. What else does that say about me?”

Taehyung swallows dramatically, then clears his throat, like he’s preparing for a dramatic recitation. “I mean the obvious self-esteem issues aside,” he motions vaguely up and down in Yeonjun’s direction. “Which, by the way, you have no reason for. You’re the hottest person I’ve ever slept with, well, except for Jimin, maybe. But anyway, you have some distorted perceptions of your body, and you sometimes feel like you’re molding yourself to fit others’ expectations of you.” He dabs at his mouth with a napkin, then stands up and stares at the empty plates in front of him. “I mean I don’t date though, so maybe you were right about the attachment issues." He flashes a boxy smiles, then winks in a way that would probably seem sleazy on anyone else, but he somehow pulls off. "Anyway, you ready for round two?”

**Then**

“So you were really never able to cum with your old boyfriend?” Namjoon mumbles into the corner of Yeonjun’s jaw. 

Yeonjun works his hands underneath Namjoon’s shirt to grab at his waist, pulling him closer to where he’s seated on the desk in Namjoon’s office. “I mean, we only fucked a few times, but yeah, I’ve never cum with another person.”

Namjoon reaches down and starts unfastening the buttons on Yeonjun’s shirt. “Mmm, bet I could change that,” he muses, still pressing hurried kisses to Yeonjun’s neck. He’ll undoubtedly leave marks. 

Yeonjun lets out a soft whine when Namjoon finishes unbuttoning his shirt and begins working his thumb in quick circles over Yeonjun’s nipple. Just as Yeonjun slides his hands lower to cup at Namjoon’ crotch, the lock on the office door clicks, and the door swings open. 

“Jesus christ Namjoon-ah, hang a sock on the door or something!” the man shouts, throwing a hand over his eyes and backing out of the office, shutting the door behind him. 

Instantly, Namjoon steps back from his perch between Yeonjun’s legs. Yeonjun, too, grabs at his undone button-down, pulling the sides across his chest and stomach to cover himself up. His cheeks burn, and he doesn’t dare look Namjoon in the eyes, let alone this stranger. He rushes to button his shirt, willing his hard-on to go down, as Namjoon yells back, a little too loudly, “Sorry Seokjin-hyung, just give us a minute, then you can come in.” Once both are sure they look decently presentable, Namjoon calls, “Alright hyung, you’re safe,” and Seokjin cautiously pushes the door open, looking suspiciously at Yeonjun, eyes flickering with something indiscernible, before finally stepping inside the cramped office. 

As with all the graduate music students’ offices, Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s is located in a cramped room barely larger than a closet, only just big enough for their two small desks and office chairs. Seokjin takes a seat at his desk when he walks in, and Namjoon sits down in his own chair, leaving Yeonjun awkwardly sitting atop Namjoon’s desk, legs dangling off, not quite touching the ground. The room is silent for a moment, tension pulling the air taught like a stretched rubber band, before Seokjin finally bursts out laughing, letting out loud bellows that cut through the awkwardness. After a beat, Namjoon joins in. “Sorry hyung, I’m so embarrassed.”

Seokjin waves him off. “What’s more embarrassing, Namjoon-ah, is that you haven’t introduced me to this handsome fellow here.” He gestures in the direction of Yeonjun. 

Namjoon smiles, a look of pride rushing across his face, as he wraps an arm possessively around Yeonjun’s waist. “This is Choi Yeonjun.”

Seokjin meets Yeonjun’s gaze, and his eyes look dark. He turns back to Namjoon. “He one of your students?” 

Namjoon clenches his jaw, lifts his chin to look down at Seokjin. “Yeah he is.” He sounds almost smug. 

“Damn, haven’t fucked one of my students since that guy last year,” Seokjin says casually, as if Yeonjun isn’t in the room. He pulls out a small grinder and some rolling papers, and starts rolling a joint right on his desk.

“Little guy, blonde hair, right? He was hot as hell.”

Seokjin responds to Namjoon with a crooked smile. “More stamina than Yoongi, if you’d believe that.” 

Namjoon laughs, and Yeonjun can see the indents of his dimples, sharp and pronounced in the dim office lighting. Seokjin takes a lighter from his pocket, flicking it a few times before lighting the fresh joint hanging out of his mouth. He offers it to Yeonjun. “You want some?”

Yeonjun shakes his head nervously, suddenly feeling his heart rate surge in his chest. “Actually, um, sorry Namjoon-hyung, but I, uh, forgot I have some homework to do.” He gets up hurriedly, and heads the two steps to the door. “Nice, um, to meet you Seokjin-sunbaenim,” he says with a small wave, before turning the door handle and stepping out the door. 

“Call me hyung,” he hears, along with two people’s loud laughter, as he closes the door behind him. 

~~~

_Wait for me in a practice room tonight. I’ll meet you at 5._

Yeonjun sticks his phone back into his pocket, smiling to himself. He had only just gotten back from visiting his home for winter break. Yeonjun and his parents had gotten along fine, but unsurprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned Namjoon to them, and even if he had, he isn’t sure what he would have even said. “Mom, dad, I’m gay, and also I might be dating my much-older music TA, but I’m not entirely sure because we haven’t exactly had that conversation.” That aside, Namjoon had promised him they would fuck eventually, once he decided Yeonjun was ready. He hopes tonight will finally be the night, now that he's back in town and most students are still gone on break. At 4:55pm, Yeonjun walks into the practice room area, slipping into a small room in the corner, hoping no one else will try to come claim it. Just to be safe, he covers the window to the hall with a spare piece of sheet music, then takes a seat on the piano bench to wait for Namjoon.

Sure enough, at a prompt 5pm, Yeonjun hears a soft knock on the door, before Namjoon opens it and steps inside. Without saying anything, he takes a seat next to Yeonjun, before quickly leaning forward to kiss him. Yeonjun scrambles to deepen the kiss, and this time Namjoon lets him, parting his lips so Yeonjun can lick into his mouth. Almost immediately, Namjoon reaches forward to unbutton Yeonjun’s jeans, and Yeonjun isn’t sure he’s ever seen Namjoon this desperate. He feels himself shaking with arousal at the thought that the put-together _Professor Kim_ could be so affected. 

Namjoon slides down Yeonjun’s jeans just a little, enough to reach into his underwear and pull out his cock. Yeonjun isn’t fully hard yet, but he’s on his way there, and he can see the way he’s already leaking precum onto Namjoon’s fist. He can tell Namjoon feels it, too, in the way his breath catches in his throat as he keeps kissing Yeonjun.

“So wet for me already, baby.” 

Yeonjun shudders as Namjoon starts slowly running his hand up and down his cock. He’s sure he’s more nervous than he’s ever felt in his life, and more turned-on, every movement of Namjoon’s hand sending shivers through his whole body.

“Lay down, Yeonjun-ah,” Namjoon instructs.

Yeonjun obliges, laying down on the piano bench. Namjoon removes his hand from his dick to help Yeonjun adjust, pulling his pants and boxers down lower, before leaning forward to mouth at the inside of Yeonjun’s thigh. Slowly, he inches his way up toward Yeonjun’s crotch, sucking a trail of hickies as he goes. Yeonjun lets out a soft gasp, and Namjoon reaches a hand up to silence him. “Shh baby, gotta keep quiet for hyung.” Yeonjun whines again anyway, throwing a hand over his eyes as Namjoon finally sinks his mouth down over Yeonjun’s length. Yeonjun bucks his hips up instinctually, but Namjoon presses a hand down on his hip, holding Yeonjun in places as he sets the pace. It goes on like that for maybe another minute, Yeonjun whimpering softly as Namjoon bobs his head, periodically shushing Yeonjun with soft hums that just further serve as stimulation to his cock. 

Finally, as Yeonjun is shaking, not quite having fallen over the edge, but not quite far from there, either, Namjoon pulls off, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth with a half-smile. He leans forward and gives Yeonjun a quick peck on the lips. “You can sit up,” Namjoon mumbles into his mouth, unzipping his own pants as he does so.

Yeonjun sits up so they’re seated side-by-side on the bench. He feels a little confused, and on-edge at Namjoon stopping. He wonders if he’s allowed to say something, to ask Namjoon to keep going. As he’s debating what to say, though, Namjoon takes Yeonjun’s hand and guides it down under his boxers, fingers curled around Yeonjun’s as he guides him on how to stroke his cock. “See baby, you did this. So hot,” Namjoon says softly, eyes hooded and dark as he stares at Yeonjun. 

Yeonjun smiles a little at the praise, glad that he’s doing well to please Namjoon, at least. Namjoon removes his hand from on top of Yeonjun’s, and uses it to lower his underwear, just enough so that the length of his cock pokes out. Yeonjun’s eyes flutter downward, and he lets out a soft gasp. Namjoon is big, much bigger than his ex-boyfriend, and wet, the little bit of precum helping to ease the slide of Yeonjun’s hand as he strokes up and down Namjoon’s length. He slowly speeds up his strokes, and in response Namjoon closes his eyes, throwing his head back just a little as he whines. He keeps going, his strokes getting gradually faster, and a little rougher. Namjoon urges him on with his soft grunts, biting at his lip. Yeonjun thinks he looks devastatingly hot, and he’s excited at the thought of getting Namjoon off. Suddenly, though, Namjoon’s eyes fly open. “Ow, not like that,” he barks out, too-loud in the quiet practice room. 

It’s like an elevator drops in Yeonjun’s stomach, crashing to the floor of his abdomen. His hand freezes, still grasped loosely around Namjoon’s cock. Namjoon glances over at Yeonjun, a look of confusion on his face. “Did I say to stop?” he asks, and there’s an edge of annoyance there. 

“No, sorry,” Yeonjun says, shaking his head as he slowly starts stroking Namjoon again, a little more sheepishly. He’s having trouble looking Namjoon in the eyes, and the feeling of disappointment in the air stings like when Namjoon stopped blowing him earlier, or when he corrected Yeonjun on his kissing. Yeonjun will just have to try harder to do better, it seems. He slides his hand four times, before Namjoon instructs him to go a little faster, grasp a little firmer, use a little more precum to ease the slide. Yeonjun follows his instructions, continuing to pump Namjoon’s length, until finally, Namjoon throws his head back, this time cumming into Yeonjun’s fist, little streaks of white shooting over the top of his knuckles and outward, some hitting the edge of the piano. 

Namjoon reaches out to grasp at Yeonjun’s hair, stroking at the top like he’s petting a dog. “Fuck, that was good. You’re so fucking talented, Yeonjun. At everything.” Yeonjun looks Namjoon in the eyes, finally, and he believes him. Namjoon’s eyes look watery, drooping slightly at the sides and rimmed with sweat, like he was the one doing the work, not Yeonjun. With the hand not fixed atop Yeonjun’s head, Namjoon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of tissues. “Planned for this,” he whispers with a cheeky smile, suddenly all soft lines of scrunched-up cheeks and dimple-craters. He unfolds one, moving his hand away from Yeonjun’s scalp to grab Yeonjun’s dirtied hand and wipe it off. He makes slow work of it, taking his time with each finger, running the soft tissue along each knuckle, making sure to clean both sides thoroughly. To Yeonjun, it feels like a reward for a job well-done. The thoughts of the still half-chubbed cock between his legs fade, replaced with a thrumming desire to please, to impress Namjoon. Maybe it’s addictive, but he wants to feel this thrill again. 

Namjoon tucks himself back into his baggy jeans, and Yeonjun belatedly realizes his dick is still hanging out between his legs. He quickly follows Namjoon’s lead, zipping his pants and standing up. “You wanna get some dinner?” Namjoon asks, and Yeonjun, high on the prospect that Namjoon wants to spend more time with him, agrees. 

~~~

Namjoon shows Yeonjun how to buy a ticket for the city bus, and how to read the maps to get to their destination. It’s new for Yeonjun, who generally prefers to stay on campus to hang out with Jungkook, or take short walks to surrounding parks with Namjoon. He likes the freedom this new knowledge grants him, though. 

“You ever had dim sum?” Namjoon asks, holding Yeonjun’s hand as he helps him off of the bus about twenty minutes later. Yeonjun shakes his head no, and Namjoon continues, “It’s my favorite, and this place is definitely the best place in town for it if you want the real thing.” 

Yeonjun nods, but otherwise remains silent as they approach a food cart with a picnic table and a small canopy decorated with fairy lights. A fire pit crackles next to them in the dark evening chill, illuminating the little bit of snow on the ground. Namjoon runs ahead a bit, yelling out a “hello” to the middle-aged couple working there. The man at the window waves, while the woman pokes her head out with a smile from where she’s cooking inside. 

“Namjoon, how have you been?” the man asks excitedly as Namjoon approaches. Immediately, they launch into a fast-paced conversation, something to do with Buddhism and the man’s family. Namjoon waves his arms animatedly as he eventually orders, asking for some soup dumplings, pork buns, and various steamed vegetables. The woman insists they take some porridge as well, and Yeonjun is grateful as he notices his breath coming out in little puffs of fog. Yeonjun watches as Namjoon shyly smiles at the ground, before hesitantly agreeing, thanking her profusely. So far, Yeonjun has said nothing, not quite sure how to jump into this conversation with these people he doesn’t know. He feels a little bit like an outsider, like he’s simply an observer to these other people’s lives, while he stands there awkwardly waiting for their food. He wishes Namjoon would introduce him. Finally, Namjoon waves at the couple, thanking them again as they tell him they’ll bring the food out to the table once it’s ready. 

“I thought you said you were an atheist,” Yeonjun comments, clasping Namjoon’s cold hands with his own once they’ve taken a seat.

Namjoon laughs dismissively. “Oh, absolutely. I hate religion. I think it’s absolute brainwashing garbage. But enough people still subscribe to that shit to make it worthwhile to know something about, no?”

Yeonjun nods slowly. He isn't particularly religious, either, but still, he doubts this older couple would love knowing that Namjoon just referred to their religion as “brainwashing garbage." He quickly brushes that aside, though. “So…you said dim sum is your favorite food?” Yeonjun asks to change the subject.

Namjoon chuckles to himself. “Yeah, uh, I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell you this so...soon, but my ex-husband is actually from China. I’ve spent a lot of time there, so I guess you could say I’m pretty particular about Chinese food in general.” 

Yeonjun feels like a “pause” button clicks in his brain. “Wait, wait, wait, what? Ex-husband?”

Namjoon lets out a nervous chuckle, the kind that’s different from his fake classroom laugh, but not nearly as genuine as his real laugh, either. He runs his hand along the back of his neck, a familiar anxious tick, as he replies, “Um, yeah, I was married for three years. My ex, um, Jackson, and I were high school sweethearts and got married pretty quickly after we graduated. He, ya know, proposed to me and the works.”

“Can I see him?” Yeonjun blurts out, before the embarrassment hits.

Namjoon laughs at that, and this time it’s real. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Let me look, I probably still have some wedding photos saved somewhere.” He scrolls though his phone for a minute, before pulling up what looks like an entire album of wedding photos. Yeonjun resists the urge to laugh when he sees how Namjoon looks: he’s dressed in an almost schoolboy-like fitted navy suit and white button-down, and is hair is bleach-blonde, like it is now, but shaved on the sides and styled into a mohawk on top. He looks, well, young. 

“How old were you then, hyung?” Yeonjun asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Nineteen.”

Like Yeonjun is now. 

“Let me see a picture of your ex.”

Namjoon scrolls through a few more photos, before handing the phone over to Yeonjun. The photo is of Namjoon, smiling, his arm around the waist of another man. This man is shorter, but broad. Handsome, in a cocky sort of way. Yeonjun can see why Namjoon was drawn to him.

“What happened? With you two?”

Before Namjoon can answer, the man from the cart walks over with a large tray of food and sets it between them. Yeonjun grabs for a soup dumpling, regretting it immediately when it bursts in his mouth and the hot broth scalds his tongue. 

“Yeonjun-ah, careful, please!” Namjoon scolds, but his expression is fond.

“Hyunggg,” Yeonjun whines, mouth full of food. “Why’juguysbreakuf?” He still isn’t sure if it’s an appropriate question to ask, but at this point he’s too curious to drop the subject.

“Well,” Namjoon says, between reasonable-sized bites of pork bun, “Pretty early into our marriage Jackson wanted to open things up, and so I went along with it because I loved him.” He pauses then and takes a deep breath. Yeonjun counts three full seconds of silence. “Hard to say if he ever loved me back, to be honest. He always liked men that had more money. He loved to get dressed up, go on fancy dinner dates with businessmen, or lawyers, or doctors. I think he always worried that I wouldn’t be able to provide for him as a musician.”

Namjoon pauses again, and Yeonjun sets down his chopsticks to take Namjoon’s hands in his own. He looks into Namjoon's eyes, and can see the genuine hurt there. “It’s really hard for me to talk about him, so thank you for listening,” Namjoon says finally, reaching to spoon some porridge into his mouth. Yeonjun can see the way his breath condenses on the dark ceramic spoon, casting little rivulets of smoke out into the cold night air. 

Namjoon gives Yeonjun a searching look, before continuing, “Do you want to come over to my house after this? I wasn’t planning on fucking you tonight, but I really want to.”

Yeonjun feels his heart skip a beat in his chest, through the layers of coat and cardigan. This is it, the question he’s been waiting for. “Yes.”

~~~

They finish their dinner shortly after that, and Namjoon leads Yeonjun through a few blocks of residential streets to his apartment. His apartment is located on the upper floor of what looks to be a large, old house, converted into studios. In the back is a spacious, fenced-in yard that Namjoon tells him he gardens in in the summertime. Yeonjun hopes he will still be around to see it. When they get up the stairs, Namjoon walks them through a quaint living room area, furnished with light-wash wooden furniture, and what looks like a small altar, topped with incense, candles, and weed paraphernalia, and into a small bedroom. Namjoon turns on a dim floor lamp, revealing that there’s not much furniture inside, which doesn’t surprise Yeonjun a whole lot. Namjoon seems to be more concerned with making music than most other things, a lifestyle that lends itself to minimalism. Nonetheless, the room feels cozy and lived-in. There’s a full-sized bed against the far wall. Next to that is a small desk with a computer and keyboard setup, which he assumes is where Namjoon records his music. The walls are lined with a couple paintings, and a shelf holds a few KAWS toys. There’s some clutter-- a few rogue socks on the ground, a half-drunk coffee mug on the desk--, but for the most part, the room looks clean. Adult. 

“Lie down and get undressed,” Namjoon urges in a hushed voice, even though there’s no one else around who could possibly hear them.

Yeonjun strips down to just his boxer-briefs, shivering slightly in the chilled air. He watches from the bed as Namjoon digs through a drawer in the desk, pulling out a condom and small bottle of lube. “Underwear, too,” Namjoon says, quickly discarding his own clothes and kneeling on the bed between Yeonjun’s legs. “Knees up,” he instructs, and Yeonjun obliges by grabbing the backs of his thighs, holding his legs spread, hole on display for Namjoon. He feels cold, and more exposed than he ever has before. Even the few times his old boyfriend fucked him, he’d usually prep himself first, or turn the lights off while his boyfriend fingered him excruciatingly slowly, pressing one wet, unskilled finger in at a time. That’s why this time, in the faint light from the floor lamp, with Namjoon quickly scissoring two fingers inside him, the experience seems like such an extreme departure from what he’s used to. Yeonjun can tell Namjoon is getting desperate, watching as he uses his free hand to palm at his hard cock, not quite grabbing, but just occasionally pressing his palm against the shaft, as if trying to relieve some pressure. 

After only a few minutes, Namjoon removes his fingers, and Yeonjun sets his legs down, sitting up to watch in silence as Namjoon rolls the condom over his dick, lubing it up before lightly pressing his hand down on Yeonjun’s chest, then lining himself up with Yeonjun’s hole. “Can’t wait to be in you,” he says, as he presses inside faster than Yeonjun is used to, his ex-boyfriend tending to err on the cautious side, and he lets out a soft gasp at the intrusion. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it definitely doesn’t feel as incredible as he had imagined, either, with his hand around his cock in the dark of his dorm room. Namjoon leans forward, propping Yeonjun’s legs up on his shoulders so he can lean forward and press his face into the space between Yeonjun’s neck and his shoulder. “Fuckin’ dancers,” Namjoon mumbles into the crevice there. He starts fucking into Yeonjun for real, then, setting a brutal pace from the start, giving Yeonjun no real time to adjust. “Feels so fucking good, Yeonjun-ah,” he moans softly. 

Yeonjun tries to get into the sensation of Namjoon fucking him, but he can’t quite manage to get comfortable in the cool, unfamiliar bedroom. The room is silent, save for Namjoon’s rough, labored breaths, and the rhythmic thumping of the bed springs beneath him. Every few thrusts, Namjoon brushes against his prostate, but it’s mixed with the overwhelming, borderline uncomfortable feeling of being too full, too exposed to this older, more experienced person above him. Yeonjun wishes he could get out of his head, and tries to moan in time with Namjoon’s rapid thrusts, willing himself to stay hard, to enjoy the experience.

Namjoon lifts his head to look into Yeonjun’s eyes. “Why are you so loud?” Yeonjun wishes Namjoon would touch his dick, change positions, ask him how he’s doing, if he’s enjoying it, something. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to hope for long, as Namjoon thrusts a few more times, before letting out a quiet, “ah,” and collapsing forward onto Yeonjun’s chest. He lets Yeonjun’s legs slip off his shoulders, and wraps his arms around Yeonjun’s back, pulling him sideways so they’re lying facing each other on the bed. Namjoon’s softening dick is still inside Yeonjun, the feeling of the latex and lube too-sticky against Yeonjun’s worn, puckered hole. Yeonjun isn’t hard anymore, either, his dick lying limp and unsated between them, the little bit of precum that had been there rubbing up against Namjoon’s stomach, leaving a clear, tacky trail in its wake.

Namjoon closes his eyes, breathing heavily right into Yeonjun’s face. His breath smells like garlic and pork. Yeonjun counts six excruciating minutes of silence, and he begins to think Namjoon has fallen asleep by the way his breathing has slowed. Eventually, though, Namjoon lets out a deep sigh and unwraps his arms from around Yeonjun. He finally pulls out, ties off the condom, and gets up to throw it in a trash bin by the door and turn off the light. Yeonjun lies alone on top of Namjoon’s covers, sticky from Namjoon’s sweat and the lube still gathered between his thighs. He’s shivering, but he isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold. He rolls over onto his side, facing the wall away from the door, and he feels Namjoon slide in behind him, his chest pressed up against Yeonjun’s back. Yeonjun can feel his breathing against him: three, four, five breaths. Yeonjun closes his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep, but it’s then that he realizes: amid the rush to prep him, he and Namjoon never once even kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: rape fantasy (described in detail but completely in Yeonjun's head, not acted on), brief mention of past suicide attempt, general self-loathing/feelings of hopelessness, weed, cheating, dubcon for extremely poor communication during sex
> 
> My [Twt](https://twitter.com/knotoday) DM's are open if anyone would like further clarification on any tags.
> 
> Chapter title taken from [Creature](https://open.spotify.com/track/4GV9tK5QPaD3gVSJvMxUN0?si=NSzavzaPRVyeqcR3tUqygg) by It Looks Sad.


	4. Troubled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is still following this story! I know this chapter has taken longer than other chapters so far, but honestly I don't know how I pumped out the first three chapters in the span of a month. 
> 
> Additional warnings are listed at the end of the chapter. Again, there are some pretty intense themes in this chapter, so please be careful and heed the tags.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Now**

“So the video I watched online said you just wrap it over again to make a column. It protects your wrists, I guess.” Taehyung takes the rope and loops it around Yeonjun’s arms before tying a knot between his hands, essentially creating a pair of makeshift handcuffs. He taps Yeonjun on the shoulder when he’s finished, asking, “Alright, how does that feel?”

Yeonjun sits back on his heels, looking over at where Taehyung is sitting on the bed next to him. “It’s good.”

“Not too tight?” Taehyung asks. 

Yeonjun moves his hands back and forth. There’s enough space that he can still turn his wrists a little. “Nope, it’s all good.”

“We should probably have a safeword, right?” Taehyung asks once he’s shucked off his shirt, moving to stroke a hand softly up and down Yeonjun’s naked arm. “How about ‘Yeontan?’”

“What the fuck is a Yeontan?”

“My parents’ dog,” Taehyung replies, like it’s obvious. 

“And how do I know you’re not going to want to talk about your parents’ dog in bed?” Yeonjun counters, like it’s equally obvious.

“Oh, true. That’s a valid concern. I really might. Hm, ok, how about stigma?” Taehyung asks, shifting next to Yeonjun to slide off his pants.

“Stigma?” Yeonjun repeats incredulously. “That’s probably the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Perfect, so stigma it is!”

Yeonjun sighs defeatedly, then leans back until he’s lying on the bed. “Are we going to get on with this, hyung, or are you just gonna keep talking about your parents’ dog?”

“Oooh I love dirty talk,” Taehyung teases, shuffling on his knees across the bed, before straddling Yeonjun’s bare chest. They both still have underwear on, but are otherwise naked, finally. It’s comfortable between them like this. The underwear will come off soon, too, anyway. 

Taehyung scoots forward, until his legs are basically on either side of Yeonjun’s neck. He sits down experimentally, “Yeah, you like that?”

Yeonjun sputters out a laugh. “Hyung, you can be meaner.”

Tae’s face lights up: fiery, dark. He reaches his hand to cup Yeonjun’s cheek, then slowly pushes his thumb into Yeonjun’s mouth. “Remember our safeword? Also if your mouth is occupied remember to pinch me. Can you still reach with your hands tied?”

Yeonjun replies, “Yes,” clearly muffled by Taehyung’s finger. 

“Try it once, just so we’re sure.” Yeonjun lifts his wrists, still bound together, and pinches Taehyung’s back, not super hard, but still enough for him to feel it. “Ok, good,” Taehyung says, once he’s satisfied that Yeonjun can still move. “Do you like when your mouth is filled?”

Yeonjun bucks his hips playfully, licking around Taehyung’s finger. “Meanuh,” he mouths.

“Alright, you ready to choke on my _giant throbbing monster cock?_ ” he says, exaggeratedly. 

Yeonjun bites Taehyung’s thumb softly, which just elicits another smile from Taehyung. He withdraws his thumb, saying, “I was only kidding. Is baby ready for hyung’s cock? He’s being a little naughty, does he even deserve to be filled.”

Finally. That hits right. Yeonjun can already feel the heat building low in his stomach. “Yes, please. Fill me.”

“Fill me what? Yeonjun-ah, we went over this.”

Yeonjun whines around Taehyung’s finger. “Fill me, sir.”

Taehyung pats Yeonjun’s cheek, affectionately and a little condescendingly. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Taehyung lifts one leg so he’s kneeling next to Yeonjun, then shucks off his underwear. To Yeonjun’s pleasant surprise, Taehyung is hard already, his dick springing free now that his boxers are gone. 

Taehyung reaches over Yeonjun and adjusts the pillows so his head is tilted up slightly, then returns to straddling Yeonjun. “Open up, baby,” he coos, before slowly inserting his cock into Yeonjun’s open mouth. He goes slowly, testing how deep Yeonjun can take him, but when Yeonjun nods enthusiastically, he pushes in most of the way, so only a sliver of his cock is still out and Yeonjun’s face is basically touching his crotch. “Still good?” Taehyung asks, a look of concern coloring the lust in his eyes.

Yeonjun nods again, and Taehyung rocks his hips forward to fuck into Yeonjun’s mouth. He starts slowly, but as Yeonjun starts to let out little pleased moans, he picks up speed, thrusting gradually deeper. Yeonjun starts to gag, and he thinks about the feelings around him: Taehyung’s warmth; the slight burn of the ropes on his wrists; the string of spit dripping down his chin; the sounds gurgling in his throat in time with Taehyung’s low grunts; the tightness in his underwear. He blocks out all the extraneous stimuli, focusing only on Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung. Soon enough, Tae lets out a final moan, spilling deep down Yeonjun’s throat. It’s then that Yeonjun realizes what’s different, why he’s so unusually engaged: he feels cared about, listened to. Safe.

~~~

It becomes like a habit for Yeonjun. A mantra. Get out of class: Taehyung. Finish homework: Taehyung. Have a few hours free: Taehyung. He tries to count the number of times he hits Taehyung up when he’s bored, lonely, riled-up, excited, horny, etcetera, etcetera, and quickly loses count. What begins as an easy outlet to blow off some pent-up sexual frustration quickly turns into something more consuming: something like a friendship, but more, or different, at least. He’ll text Taehyung pictures of cute animals he sees on his walk to campus, and Taehyung will send him hentai images with the caption, “Try this soon?” and a few winking emojis. Yeonjun is enjoying the newness and the excitement of their situationship. 

“Do you ever wonder how others see you?”

They’ve just finally gotten out of bed to make lunch, after sleeping in late on a blizzardy Saturday. Yeonjun has learned that Taehyung is a surprisingly good cook, when he wants to be. He’s currently manning two pans: one has some kimchi and rice frying in it, while the other has some eggs, sizzling away. They’re both groggy and sipping on some coffee, while idly chatting as Taehyung prepares their meal. 

“Not much, never really mattered to me, I guess.” 

“You don’t ever think, ‘Hm, this version of myself that some people see me as may be totally different than another person’s version?’” Yeonjun asks.

Taehyung laughs. “Damn dude, did you lose too much oxygen just now?” He throws his arm up, and hits one of the pans, sending hot oil across the counter. “Shit. Where did this even come from?”

Yeonjun rubs at the back of his neck, and it’s a nervous tick that feels foreign; a ghost of a gesture that isn’t his own to borrow. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve just been thinking about my family a lot recently. This winter break is the first year I'm not visiting home. And that day at the diner, when we were talking about our families, I guess you weren’t too far off.”

Taehyung stares at Yeonjun, nodding seriously. Yeonjun worries for a second Taehyung is going to burn the rice, before he looks back down and starts stirring again. “So, what I’m hearing is you feel like the person you are around your parents is different than the person you are around other people?”

“Yeah, I mean I guess.” Yeonjun pauses, thinking. “I feel like maybe it’s not as simple as just being two personalities, though. I feel like it’s that every part of me is molded to fit who I’m with. It’s almost like my personality is an act, but the show changes with every performance.”

“Damn, dude.” He’s scooping the kimchi fried rice onto plates. “Can’t relate. This me is the me you’re getting. Point blank.” Taehyung slides into the seat at the table next to Yeonjun, despite there being more room at the seat across from him. He plants a soft kiss on Yeonjun’s shoulder, then works his way up his neck. “I like the ‘you’ I get to see, even if it’s only one version of yourself.” 

Yeonjun wants to turn his head, lean in and kiss Taehyung back, but his head is still spinning a little. Maybe it is a lack of oxygen. Or the coffee. Or hunger. Finals stress. Anything. “You’re probably right,” he concedes, picking at his food as Taehyung munches away. One bite, just start with one bite, he wills himself. Not zero, not zero. “I’m super stressed about finding a place to live. I’m supposed to move out by the end of break, but I still haven’t found anyone looking for a subletter.”

“Yeonjun-ah, you should have said something sooner. You’re always welcome to crash at my place, you know that, right?” 

Yeonjun looks into Taehyung’s dark eyes. _Don’t get attached, don’t get attached,_ he wills himself, remembering Taehyung’s insistence the first time they hooked up that he doesn’t date. At the same time, Yeonjun likes the person he is around Taehyung, whatever version of himself it is. However true it is to the real him. He settles. “Thank you, hyung, I’ll think about it.” For now, that will be enough to delay having to make decisions and let him enjoy this breakfast with Taehyung. For now, thinking about it will do. 

~~~

When Yeonjun gets home around 1am a few nights later, he’s surprised to see lights still on in the living room. He walks through the entryway, past his--Soobin’s-- bedroom, and looks to his left. Sitting on the couch is Beomgyu. In front of him is his laptop and three open textbooks spread across their end table. The light in the room is dim, warm, Beomgyu’s workstation illuminated only by the orange glow of a lamp in the corner and a few candles flickering on a smaller table. The room smells like incense, and below that something sweet, like a citrus fruit. As usual, he’s listening to a soft, thrumming folk singer through the living room speakers. Beomgyu looks up when Yeonjun walks in, and nods at him in acknowledgment. 

Yeonjun takes a seat on the chair across from Beomgyu, and Beomgyu goes to close his laptop. “You don’t have to stop on my account. I was just going to sit down for a minute before I head to bed.” As he says it, Yeonjun suddenly feels aware of how bare he is. His neck is covered in hickeys, which he’s sure are visible above the collar of his coat. He hasn’t looked in a mirror, but his hair is probably mussed, and his throat definitely feels raw.

Beomgyu must notice too. “You have fun at Tae’s?” His tone is serious, but he’s smiling. 

Yeonjun rubs at the back of his neck. “Haha. That obvious?” He sounds hoarse. 

“Yeah, but I mean, I’m glad to see you happy.” Beomgyu’s eyes look dark in the dim lamplight. There are obvious bags under his eyes. “I haven’t seen you happy very often.”

Yeonjun sits back, not sure how to respond. He supposes Beomgyu is right. Maybe it doesn’t warrant a response; it’s just an observation. He settles for, “What are you doing up so late?”

“Exam prep. This music theory final is about to be killer.”

Music theory. Yeah.

“Yeah, I forgot that not everyone’s finals are preparing dances and getting graded on them. I think I only have one written final this whole term.” Yeonjun knows he’s been unengaged in his studies for a while, and doesn’t particularly care how he does on finals. He mostly just wants them to be over with.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you only need a year of music theory for a minor. Must be nice not having to sit through those theory lectures anymore. That class is so hard.”

 _Must be nice. Sure._

“It’s definitely different.” Yeonjun stares past Beomgyu, just past his temple, like he’s looking him in the eyes, but without the commitment. He wishes he could care about music theory, or his dance classes, for that matter. He’s getting better, he supposes. He’s still in the program. 

Beomgyu grunts in response, and Yeonjun wills him to go back to his work. Instead, he just keeps staring at Yeonjun with a quizzical look. For a second, Yeonjun wishes the shadows under his own eyes weren’t so prominent. So damning. 

Finally, Beomgyu sits back, like he’s taking a break. “We’ve never talked about how I became friends with Kai and Taehyun, have we?”

Yeonjun shakes his head.

Beomgyu chuckles. It’s not exactly a bitter laugh, but it’s not a cheerful one, either. “Well,” he begins, “We all went to the same high school, Taehyun, Kai, and I. We were all in the same choir class.” He pauses. “Hilarious, I know. That really should have been the first sign I was, um, maybe not straight. Anyway, we were singing this song by a composer, a former student of our choir teacher. He was twenty-one, and I was seventeen.”

Yeonjun swears the dim lighting in the room turns a shade darker, as he feels the color drain from his cheeks. Count the seconds, he wills. Paintings on the wall: six, now. Three books on the table. He’s never heard this story, but he could tell the whole thing already. 

“I was the soloist for this big piece, and this composer, Donghyuk, and I started talking. Just about style and stuff for the performance. But it kinda evolved quickly, like he invited me for lunch one day, and then I started skipping classes to hang with him and his college friends. And I definitely started blowing off my high school friends to see him. I literally feel like I got addicted to him, ya know? Like all I ever wanted to do was see him. We’d get together and literally do _nothing,_ just like drink and do coke sometimes and fuck for hours. But I swear he didn’t care about me at all. Like one time he called me really late, _begging_ me to come over, so I snuck out and went over to his house, but when I got there I remember him saying that he was too drunk to have sex and I should just get myself off. God, he was such an asshole. It’s so obvious when I talk about it now.”

Yeonjun’s voice wavers as he asks, “So what happened, with you and him?”

“Ha, I mean the concert happened, and after that things kinda just drifted off. Like nothing _happened_ happened. He was interested when he had all the control and could see me without having to try, but I guess once I was legal that wasn’t as fun anymore.” Beomgyu laughs saltily, then, more like a cough than anything else. “What’s fucked is I still miss it sometimes, I really do. He never cared about me, and I miss him. I miss him even though after we stopped talking I totally spiralled. Like I swear I placed my entire sense of self into being with this person, and once he wasn’t in my life, I had nothing left. It felt like I was just this husk. I think my whole friend group was over it, too. Like they didn’t really want to talk to me anymore, and I don’t know if it was because they were pissed that I had chosen this guy over them, or if they were homophobic, or just that I genuinely wasn’t pleasant to be around. Kai and Taehyun, though, they weren’t like that. They never asked questions after I told them that Donghyuk and I weren’t hanging out anymore. And it still comes up, sometimes, but they’re so good about not asking. I think they can tell that’s what I need.”

“I’m amazed that they have that much clarity, for how young they are,” Yeonjun muses.

Beomgyu smiles then, his eyes squinting into soft crescents in what is the first genuine smile Yeonjun has seen this whole conversation. “You always say that, hyung. How they’re so young. Like they somehow don’t know anything. Like they’re naive or something, just because they’re freshmen.”

By Yeonjun’s own metric, freshmen are naive. He keeps that to himself, though. There’s so much he could add to the conversation, like about how he relates to Beomgyu’s story. About how closely it parallels his own. He could push back, ask why Beomgyu didn’t try harder to make it work with this older guy. If staying with the friends who stayed with him was simply a move of convenience. However, the words that actually come out of his mouth surprise him. “Beomgyu, what is Soobin like?” He adds, “I was, um, looking on Instagram and saw some pictures of him,” belatedly, when Beomgyu doesn’t immediately respond.

Beomgyu gives Yeonjun a look, like he knows something Yeonjun doesn’t, and for a second Yeonjun wants to recoil under his gaze. “He’s sweet, hyung. Really different from me, or Taehyun, or Kai. But similar, too. I think the thing with him is he knows a lot more than he lets on. He won’t always say what he’s thinking, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an opinion. He’s sweet. Supportive. Loyal, but I mean, aren’t all our friends?”

 _Our friends._

A woman’s mournful voice plays through the speakers. The French words’ meanings are lost to Yeonjun, yet somehow he understands them clearly.

_Mais les histores et chansons de la perte d’innocence  
M’ont tellement hanté  
Que j’ai remis mes mains dans mes poches  
Et ma langue dans ma propre tête_

**Then**

Yeonjun opens his eyes and is hit with a strong scent of fried Spam. He rolls over. There’s a stickiness between Yeonjun’s thighs that he can’t quite place, but as he begins to wake up, memories of the night prior start to return to him. Yeonjun stretches his arms across the tan sheets on the bed. He’s alone. 

Yeonjun steps out of bed, then pulls on his jeans and sweater from the day before. He pushes open the bedroom door, and sees that across the room Namjoon is standing at the stovetop, a collection of foods around him. There are plates and chopsticks laid out on the small dining table, and in the daylight, Yeonjun gets his first real look at Namjoon's apartment. It's brighter than he thought; the walls are mostly windows, and the light-wash of the wooden furniture creates a homey, lived-in vibe, so drastically different from the shadowiness of the night before. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Namjoon says when he sees Yeonjun. His eyes immediately scrunch up, as a smile spreads across his face. “Would you like some tea? I just heated some water.” 

Yeonjun nods, a little dizzy at the whiplash. “Sure, I’ll take some tea.” Namjoon pours him a cup. Yeonjun takes it, then walks away to look out the expanse of windows. It looks like it snowed again overnight, a fresh layer of white lining the ground below them. 

“You sleep ok, babe?” Namjoon asks from right behind Yeonjun, startling him. Even though they’re basically the same height, Namjoon manages to tilt his head up enough to rest it on Yeonjun’s shoulder. He curls one arm around Yeonjun’s waist, and pushes the rest of his body flat against Yeonjun’s back. The gesture is sweet, but his breath still smells slightly of garlic. Yeonjun turns around, and Namjoon pulls him into a gentle kiss, before pulling back and beckoning Yeonjun to take a seat at the table. 

They eat largely in silence, only exchanging vague pleasantries, while Yeonjun pushes the food around his plate, barely picking at scraps. The conversation isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but not familiar like it usually is between then, and certainly with none of the usual flirtation.

“Thanks for last night,” Namjoon says, as they’re cleaning up their dishes a few minutes later. “I really needed that.” 

The Spam bubbles uncomfortably in Yeonjun’s stomach. 

“You were so good for me, Yeonjun-ah,” Namjoon continues, and his eyes glow with an excitement he usually reserves for discussion of musical projects he’s working on or a particularly good album he listened to recently. That, more than anything, catches Yeonjun’s attention. 

_Good for_ me. 

Yeonjun is about to see himself out, take a bus back to his dorm, maybe throw up the rotten breakfast, when Namjoon speaks first. “Come make a snowman with me, please Yeonjun-ah.” 

Yeonjun pauses, listening to the warning bells sounding in his brain. A thrum, a thump. They sound too much like musical beats, like the hits of a kick-drum on a computer or an accented bass note. They sound, too, like ghosts of conversations he and Namjoon have had. _I’ve never met anyone like you; you’re special, you’re different._ Yeonjun swallows down the concern. He wants Namjoon, and if Yeonjun looks back at a timeline of all the interactions he’s had with him, last night was just one red flag in a sea of positive signs; today just a runoff of yesterday. There’s still potential, for the sex, for a _relationship._ Namjoon wants him. He’s made that abundantly clear. Make the snowman, he tells himself. Don’t leave. Things will get better. This isn’t how Namjoon usually is. He knows it, he knows it. 

Yeonjun swallows once more, and it tastes of fat and acrid stomach acid. “Yes, hyung.” For Namjoon, yes. 

~~~

Winter term begins, and, at Namjoon’s suggestion, Yeonjun switches to a different section of music theory. Even though it wouldn’t have been his first choice, the class meets later in the day, and so far he’s enjoying the extra bit of sleep, even if he misses seeing the excitement of seeing Namjoon first thing in the morning two days a week. 

It’s 10:46am on a Wednesday in one such music theory class when Yeonjun gets a text from Namjoon. He tries to subtly check his phone underneath his desk, before abruptly dropping it on the floor, sending a loud crash rattling through the classroom. He gives an apologetic wave, and the TA continues her lecture, albeit with a small sigh. Yeonjun picks up his phone, and scans the text again to make sure he read it correctly. 

_I have a few hours free for lunch, wanna fuck in my office after your class?_

Only four minutes until class is out, if he’s lucky. Realistically about six. No more than ten until he gets to see Namjoon. Thankfully. 

As soon as his class is finished, Yeonjun rushes to gather his books and head to the basement, down to Namjoon’s office. On the way, he hears a voice call his name from behind him. “Yeonjun!” It’s a distinct accent that he places immediately. “Yeonjun,” Jungkook repeats, as Yeonjun stops, then slowly turns around. “I’m so glad I ran into you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long!” Jungkook has a smile plastered across his face, and it seems so genuine. Yeonjun almost feels guilty for all the time he’s been spending with Namjoon. 

“How was your break?” Jungkook continues. Yeonjun should stay and talk to him, but the clock in his head is ticking. Lunch break. Office. Fuck.

“It was good, hyung,” Yeonjun replies, and it’s obvious it’s a cop-out answer. “Hey, I’m a little busy right now, but let’s hang out soon, ok? This weekend? Maybe we can have a beer in my dorm room and talk about our breaks.” He worries for a second about how Jungkook had to spend break at home with his family, thinking back on their previous conversations about how his parents hadn’t approved of him dating a man. 

Fortunately, the offer to hang out soon seems to satisfy Jungkook. He nods enthusiastically. “Yes, that sounds great. It’s really good to see you. Text me; we’ll make a plan.” The loose curls around Jungkook’s face bounce as he turns and nearly skips away from Yeonjun. Yeonjun wishes he felt guiltier. 

~~~

He gets to Namjoon’s office a minute later, and Namjoon is hunched over his desk, grading papers. Soft classical music is playing from his small desk speaker, and Yeonjun recognizes the song immediately: it's the piece Namjoon had his class analyze during their first ever theory class. There are soft, repeated string lines that swell and fade away, and Yeonjun lets himself listen for a minute to the mournful woodwind melody from the doorway. He remembers the way he had wanted to repeat Namjoon’s name over and over again, as gently as a symphony, as carefully as a meticulously-placed clarinet melody. 

Namjoon looks back then, and his face lights up. “Baby,” he says softly, getting out of his chair to meet Yeonjun and pull him into his office. Yeonjun can’t help but blush, the heady energy in the room already palpable. He feels warm, flustered even, as Namjoon peppers soft kisses down Yeonjun’s neck, before pulling off Yeonjun’s shirt to place small hickeys down his chest, finally dropping to his knees as he slides down Yeonjun’s waistband ever so slightly, just barely enough to nibble at the sensitive skin below his hip bone. 

Yeonjun leans his head back against the door and moans, before stopping himself. _Why are you so loud,_ flickers through his brain.

“It’s ok baby, you’re being so good. So, so good, you can let it out,” this different, new Namjoon says. 

Yeonjun closes his eyes, letting out a soft, “Hyung,” as Namjoon continues to tease, not taking off any of Yeonjun’s clothes, but touching him everywhere: on the sides of his waist, just below his navel, over his chest and sensitive nipples. After what feels like forever under Namjoon’s warm, careful touch, Yeonjun finally starts to beg. “Please, hyung.”

Namjoon laughs, and looks up from where he’s perched on his knees in front of Yeonjun. He rests his face against the top of Yeonjun’s thigh, and Yeonjun marvels at just how _soft_ the gesture is. “Please what? You gotta use your words for me,” Namjoon says, before placing another soft kiss against Yeonjun’s leg.

“Please, touch,” Yeonjun manages to get out, and Namjoon obliges by finally, _finally,_ dragging down Yeonjun’s joggers. He carefully helps Yeonjun step out of them, before doing the same with his underwear. Then, at last, he places his mouth to Yeonjun’s hard length. 

Namjoon starts gently, littering soft, open-mouthed kisses up the side of Yeonjun’s shaft, which sends a shiver down Yeonjun’s spine. Namjoon continues, adding a hand to press at Yeonjun’s perineum and lightly play with his balls. The feeling is different than Yeonjun is used to, but pleasant. Namjoon takes Yeonjun all the way in his mouth then, and Yeonjun’s reels at the sudden warmth and wetness around his cock. He moans loudly, then catches himself again. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his hips back like he’s recoiling. Namjoon runs a hand reassuringly up Yeonjun’s thigh. “What are you sorry for? You’re doing great.”

Yeonjun shakes his head apologetically. “Just sorry I’m being loud. Wouldn’t want anyone in the other offices to hear.”

Namjoon laughs. “Haha, I would,” he says with a wink, before placing a soft kiss to the tip of Yeonjun’s dick. He looks so cute like this. A little cocky. His dimples are back. Yeonjun’s head spins for a second as he looks down at the sight in front of him: Namjoon’s pretty face next to his hard, leaking cock. The classical music is still playing in the office, but it’s a different movement. This one’s faster, and the swells are more intense. The highs high; the lows so much lower. It’s a lot to take in. 

Namjoon moves his mouth back to Yeonjun’s cock, and Yeonjun swears he can _feel_ the smile on Namjoon’s face as he sinks down onto his length. Namjoon takes the hand that was playing with Yeonjun’s taint and presses it further backward, until it’s barely ghosting over his hole. It feels delicate, the way Namjoon barely brushes over the smattering of coarse hairs there, swirling his finger around the rim without pushing in. 

“It’s ok, put it in,” Yeonjun encourages, breathlessly. Namjoon chuckles, and withdraws his hand to put his finger in his mouth. Yeonjun feels a wave of embarrassment at how he must taste, after sitting in class all morning, having not showered since the previous morning. He’s grateful that Namjoon doesn’t say anything, just sucks on his finger like it’s candy. Maybe it should feel weird, maybe it should take Yeonjun out of the moment. He can’t decide. But then Namjoon returns the finger to his hole, and presses it in, and Yeonjun’s concerns are quickly forgotten amid Namjoon’s slow movements.

“Hyung, hyung, _Namjoon,_ ” Yeonjun whines, overcome at the multitude of sensations, his concerns about being quiet, or being too much, overtaken by an overwhelming feeling of pleasure. Namjoon continues working Yeonjun’s cock with his mouth as he moves his finger in and out of Yeonjun’s hole, and after not much more time at all, Yeonjun calls out Namjoon’s name as he cums directly down his throat. As he orgasms, it feels like Yeonjun is saying Namjoon’s name for the first time, or at least like he’s never said it before. Like he’s singing it; like it’s a part of the symphony playing from the speakers. A beautiful thing, instead of something to dread, or to be wary of. This Namjoon feels like the Namjoon he met that first day of class, and Yeonjun thinks he could get used to singing this Namjoon’s name, again and again. 

~~~

“Are you even listening?”

Yeonjun looks up from his phone at where Jungkook is frowning at him from across the table. This semester they’re in different dance classes, but tonight their schedules both lined up enough that they agreed to get dinner together in the dining hall, for old times’ sake. 

“Yeonjun, can you stop texting for one minute?” Jungkook chides him. He smiles and takes a bite of his pasta. 

Yeonjun gives an apologetic, “Yeah, ok,” before locking his phone and setting it down next to him on the table. Immediately the phone lights up again with another text from Namjoon.

“Stop texting Namjoon-ssi and pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts, mouth full of noodles and some dribbling down his chin. “Tell me how your winter break was.”

Yeonjun glances down at the food he’s barely touched. His phone buzzes again on the table. “It was, um, pretty good. It was nice to see my parents.”

Jungkook gives him a quizzical look, like he doesn’t buy what Yeonjun is saying. Like he’s waiting for him to go on. Yeonjun looks in the direction of his phone again, before picking it up to read the most recent text. 

_My evening class got cancelled. Wanna meet up in the classroom?_

It’s something Yeonjun had discussed with Namjoon already, the fantasy he’d harbored of having sex with Namjoon in the classroom Namjoon had taught him in. He thinks back on cumming into his fist in the dark of his dorm room to the image of Namjoon, wearing his usual glasses, but dressed in a suit, only undoing the fly of his pants to take his dick out, before bending a naked Yeonjun over his desk. In his wildest fantasies, Yeonjun liked to think of himself as the naughty schoolgirl, maybe getting his tights ripped off and skirt hiked up, looking wrecked as Namjoon spilled into his pussy. Maybe Namjoon also tied his arms and gagged him while he spanked a crying Yeonjun over and over again.

Yeonjun locks his phone again. “Hey, Jungkook, uh, I have to go. Um, I’d still really like to hear about your break soon. Have, um, a good rest of your night.” Yeonjun stands up suddenly, awkwardly, and glances over at Jungkook. He’s giving Yeonjun a blank look, but below that there’s something distinctly sad. “Maybe let’s talk on the phone later, ok?” Yeonjun offers, instead of saying sorry, knowing he’ll be too busy to call. Jungkook simply purses his lips, and with a small wave Yeonjun walks away. 

~~~

The lights are off when Yeonjun reaches the classroom. 

“Hyung.”

Namjoon stands up from his seat at a student desk. In the dim light of the moon from the window, Yeonjun can make out the loose lines of his sweatshirt and flowy linen pants. _Fucked him in the classroom in a suit._ Namjoon approaches him, and reaches a hand around Yeonjun’s back to pull him into a kiss. Yeonjun feels warm, bordering on sweaty, a memory from how beautiful Namjoon had looked the first day of class rushing into his brain. He remembers the smoothness of Namjoon’s skin, the exact shade, the depth of the dimples in his cheeks, the width of his smile. He kisses like he’s possessed, taking the lead and licking between Namjoon’s lips. Namjoon chuckles a little, but lets him continue. Yeonjun moves to suck a hickey onto Namjoon’s neck, but Namjoon laughs again. “No marks, no marks, baby,” he mumbles.

“Sorry Professor, never learned how to kiss right. Can you show me?” 

Namjoon groans, grinding his hips forward a few times, before pulling Yeonjun over to the desk in the corner of the room. _Namjoon’s desk._

Yeonjun moans as Namjoon pushes him forward until he’s lying face-up on the desk. He lifts his legs, and Namjoon helps him slide off his jeans and underwear, before tossing them haphazardly onto the ground. Yeonjun can’t exactly make out what Namjoon is doing in the dark, but then he feels a cool, wet finger against his rim, and arches his back with a strangled moan. Namjoon quickly leans all the way forward, pressing a soft kiss to Yeonjun’s lips as he works a finger inside him. Already, it feels better than the first time Namjoon fingered him at his house before the semester started, and more like the last time in his office. Namjoon takes more time than before, intentionally pressing against Yeonjun’s prostate, just for a few seconds at a time, teasing him, until Yeonjun is whimpering. “Fuck me, please. Teach me how to fuck,” Yeonjun whines, then catches himself when the sound echos through the empty classroom. Namjoon pulls his fingers out and laughs, and his breath feels warm against Yeonjun’s face. Namjoon leans back, then a second later, Yeonjun feels a slight pressure against his hole: warm, but wider than Namjoon’s fingers.

“No condom ok?” Namjoon mumbles, waiting. _Fill him up. Raw. Breed._

He shouldn’t say it. “Just pull out. Wouldn’t want to end up pregnant.”

As soon as the words leave Yeonjun’s mouth, Namjoon sinks into him with a loud groan. “Fuck,” Namjoon whines as he bottoms out. He starts to thrust then, and it’s careful, not rough like Yeonjun envisioned, but it still has him feeling full, stretched. It’s better, so much better than last time, with Namjoon intentionally grinding against his prostate.

Yeonjun hikes his legs up, wrapping one around Namjoon’s waist and letting the other dangle off the end of the desk next by where Namjoon is standing. Namjoon wraps his hands around Yeonjun’s waist to pull him forward to meet his slow thrusts. Yeonjun tries to focus on the feeling of how big Namjoon’s hands are, but his mind keeps wandering around the space, bouncing across the walls like the recordings he’s heard played through those speakers so many times. He thinks of Namjoon’s shallow breathing and of the sweat pooling around Namjoon’s hairline and down his neck, glistening even in the darkness. His brain jumps to all the times he imagined this moment: face held down on the desk, ass-up, begging Namjoon to fuck harder into his tight heat. 

“Choke me,” Yeonjun whispers. 

Namjoon opens his eyes, just slightly, but keeps slowly fucking into Yeonjun. Yeonjun meets Namjoon’s gaze and repeats himself, louder this time. “Choke me, Professor Kim.”

Namjoon bites his lip, letting slip a high-pitched whine, still focused onto fucking into Yeonjun as he releases one of the hands clasped around his waist and moves it to Yeonjun’s throat. He rests it there lightly.

“Harder,” Yeonjun calls out, as loudly as he will allow himself in the quiet space. “Squeeze harder.”

Namjoon obliges, finally pressing down on Yeonjun’s airway the way he wants, and it’s like a switch flips in Yeonjun’s mind. “Uh, uh, yes,” he moans. Namjoon continues fucking Yeonjun, rocking his hips slowly but with enough force to gently shake the desk. Yeonjun focuses on the sensation of Namjoon’s hand on his throat as the lightheadedness starts to fog his brain. “Harder,” Yeonjun rasps, as loud as he can muster, and as Namjoon tightens the vice on his throat, Yeonjun cums untouched, squirting onto his shirt as he clenches around Namjoon. Namjoon follows only seconds later, one hand still clenched around Yeonjun’s neck as he reaches down to pull out. The floaty feeling continues to swirl around Yeonjun, blocking out Namjoon’s groans and the wetness of Namjoon’s cum spilling onto his stomach. 

Namjoon stays above him, unmoving as Yeonjun starts to open his eyes, blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision. “So, good for me baby, so good. You learned so fast,” he praises, before finally withdrawing his hand from Yeonjun’s neck. 

Yeonjun blinks, desperately sucking in air as the blood returns to his brain. Namjoon in front of him. Sweatshirt and linen pants. Desk below. Lights off, barely a sound. Cock: out, softening. Cum drying on his shirt. _He learned fast. So good, so good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: mentions of past statutory rape, mentions of past drug use, kink/safeword negotiation, bondage, non-negotiated kink, unsafe kink practice (breathplay), feminization, mentions of pregnancy/breeding, Yeonjun refers to his genitals as a pussy once, teacher kink, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, emotionally abusive relationship dynamics, disordered eating
> 
> Chapter title taken from [Troubled](https://open.spotify.com/track/39O0msKxtwkPSb3bCvbrBq?si=lP_UPZC_Siup9jznb7Zedg) by Land of Talk. 
> 
> Incidentally, it's also the song Beomgyu was listening to. The translations to the French lyrics are as follows:
> 
> But the stories and songs of the loss of innocence  
> Haunted me so much  
> That I put my hands back in my pockets  
> And my tongue in my own head
> 
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/knotoday) dm's are always open if you would like additional clarification on any tags!


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